


sine qua non

by mellyflori



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rating is for later chapters, Sharing a Bed, i'd tag for a slow burn but idek what counts as a slow burn these days?, idiots to lovers, mostly it's so we can all agree that none of them are good enough for Joe, the little couch that couldn't, there's some Joe/OMC for plot purposes, when a mathemetician and a pro-clean-energy lawyer love each other very much...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: “Are we friends now?” Joe asks. Nicky reaches up to pat Joe on the back, shifting his weight through his hips so he’s got enough power to push Joe into the water. When Joe comes up, spluttering, hair hanging lank across his face, he stares at Nicky, who looks back at him with a lopsided smile.“Now we’re friends.”Ten years, two best friends, one couch that seems to have its own agenda. Friends-to-lovers with all the trimmings.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 402
Kudos: 1133





	1. aut viam inveniam aut faciam

**Author's Note:**

> For this Kink Meme prompt: [Joe/Nicky, Modern AU, Misunderstandings](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4011.html?thread=1147819#cmt1147819). I went speech/debate rather than Model UN, and there are some things that didn't make it in, but it's done and I had a blast with it.
> 
> The story is complete, I'm just not up for editing all of it in one go, so it's going up in four chapters. Likely one a day, or one every other day depending on how work is. But, I know some of y'all are wary of WIPs, so I wanted to reassure you.
> 
> My darling, beloved Cait was the first person I ever heard use the Latin phrase that's the title of this story, when she used it to describe me to someone. I hope she knew she was that for me as well, that she still is every day. I miss her so much. In her honor, Nicky has her job as a lawyer for a firm that does public-sector advocacy for energy industry law. (They're the ones who try to keep you from getting screwed by big utilities.)

sine qua non: Latin, _noun_ , an indispensable and essential action, condition, or ingredient, a thing without which something else is not possible. 

~

“Do you not think,” says the guy from Nicky’s last round, “that your accent gives you an unfair advantage here?”

Nicky looks around. “In the auditorium?”

“No.” Nicky’s competitor crosses his arms over his chest. “At this tournament. In the poetry rounds.”

Narrowing his eyes, Nicky says, “I’m sure I don’t know; I don’t often think about my own voice. But even if it did give me an advantage? You, with your slow blink and your big eyes, you had the entire room right here.” He jabs two fingers into the cupped palm of his other hand. “In your hand. So I think I would take any advantage I could get.”

Nicky turns on his heel and stalks out to the courtyard, leaving the sounds of Mr. Big-Eyes Slow-Blink’s sputtering indignation in his wake.

He comes in second. It’s a nice trophy; it’s a nice affirmation, particularly since the university-level tournaments are so hard. Even nicer is the look of surprise on the other guy’s face when he comes in first because it means Nicky can respond with a knowing smirk. ’See?’ says the curl of his lip. ‘I told you so.'

Nicky’s team carpooled to the event, and he’s riding back with his friend Ramesh. Once everyone has their stuff in the trunk, and someone’s called shotgun, they’re ready to go. Ramesh’s car is most of the way out of the parking lot when Nicky catches a flash out of the corner of his eye and turns in the passenger seat to see the first-place winner jog up to the curb and shield his eyes from the sun so that he can scan the area. There’s a second when Nicky thinks the guy might be looking for him, but when Nicky meets his eyes, the guy just turns and walks back inside.

Turning away from the window, Nicky asks, “Do you think I score better in the poetry events because of my accent?”

Ramesh looks at Nicky like he’s grown a second head. “Seriously? Yes. Of course you do. You’re reading poetry to literature professors and drama coaches. If you sound like the mysterious lover in a third of the art-house movies they know and love, of course, you’re going to have an advantage.”

“Oh.”

“Nicky, man, you need not to fight that. You think basketball players look at each other and say, ‘I think being tall gives me an unfair advantage?’ It’s not like you have a choice in how you speak, not really. You’re not counting cards, my friend, so use what you’ve got.” He shrugs.

The image in Nicky’s head is the first-place winner, standing at the front of the room during their third round with that lazy grin and his hair falling in his eyes. Use what you’ve got. “Thanks, Ram.”

He finishes out the season without ever seeing the other guy again, and when competition starts the next fall, Nicky’s moved to policy debate.

It takes a couple of tournaments for Nicky to find his feet, but that first win feels fantastic when he finally does. He’s still high on that feeling when the next tournament starts, and he and Karda roll up into the room for their first round. His heels don’t quite make a squeaking, skidding noise as he comes to a halt, but it’s close. Across the room, sitting next to a blonde in a purple dress, is the guy. 

Nicky makes an “Oof” noise as Karda slams into the back of him and pushes him through the door. “The hell, Nicky?” he says as he elbows past to find their seats.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” says the guy, only to be elbowed by his partner.

“Nice, babe. Great sportsmanship.” She crosses the room to shake first Karda’s hand, then Nicky’s. “I’m Laura; you’ll have to excuse Joe. Apparently, something crawled up his ass and died this morning.”

“No worries, Nicky’s like that before his coffee, too.” Karda ignores Nicky’s glare. 

The first half of the round is a blur, but Nicky must have held it together because Karda slaps him on the back when it’s all over and tells him they did well.

Laura and the guy, Joe, thank them for a good round. She’s charming and sweet; he’s perfectly civil, even if he won’t meet Nicky’s eyes.

Neither of their teams wins that day. They all get their asses handed to them by last year’s regional winners, and Karda says he and Nicky deserve to drown their sorrows in burgers. At the hotel, they take a minute to change into something that isn’t itchy trousers and a tie. Once Nicky’s got his hoodie on over a comfortable pair of jeans, he feels like he’s up for the post-mortem he knows Karda has planned. 

Sprinting through the rain, Nicky and Karda come barreling through the door of the diner down the street, laughing and flicking water at each other. Scattered among the tables are a few other competitors, and at a booth in the back are their first-round opponents.

Karda smiles and raises a hand in greeting; Laura answers with a grin and waves them over.

“You guys here to lick your wounds, too?” she asks.

“Nothing says, 'Sorry those guys blew through you like a tornado’ quite the way burgers do.” 

Laura laughs at Karda and scoots over, “Join us? We were just doing our after-action.” There’s a thud under the table, and Laura whips her head around to look at Joe. Karda is asking Nicky what he thinks, so he misses Laura hissing, “What is your fucking problem?” at Joe, then glaring at him until he scoots over as well.

The good news is that Nicky doesn’t have to sit next to him. The bad news is that now he has to sit and be aggressively not-looked-at for his entire meal. 

In fact, Joe only holds out for half the time. Laura is engaging enough to draw Nicky in and have him laughing and telling stories. She’s been to his hometown a few times, and they trade favorite places. Her dad moved the family around a lot for work, she says, global sales for some IT company, and they commiserate over being the new kid in school and a fish out of water. 

Karda and Laura both have matchmaking mothers, so they bond for a while about the worst times their moms have tried to fix them up.

“She likes Joe, though. First guy I’ve dated in years that I’m not getting a lecture about. What about you, Nicky? Your mom pressuring you to find a nice girl and settle down?”

“Uh. Not exactly.” He scrubs at the back of his neck with his palm.

“Nicky’s fishing out of a different pond,” Karda says.

“So very charming, asshole.” Nicky flicks some water at him. He grins at Laura. “It’s true, though. I’m still on the hook for grandchildren, though. She hasn’t specified how, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to know. At some point, if the pressure becomes too much to bear, I’ll start discussing the options with her in great detail. That should buy me a few months of peace.”

Joe snickers into his glass then looks up, meeting Nicky’s eyes for the first time all day. One corner of his mouth ticks up, and Nicky knows it’s likely as close to an apology as he’s going to get for now. Shrugging, he smiles back.

Karda’s girlfriend is also on their team, so he and Laura discuss the pitfalls of debate practice with your significant other. Laura says it’s made her wish she could give Joe a score at the end of their fights. Joe rolls his eyes but smiles at her with real fondness.

In the lobby of the hotel, the four of them part ways. 

“Well,” Joe says. “Good luck next time.”

Nicky smiles at him. “To you as well.”

They don’t see each other again until a large regional qualifying tournament, three months later and two states away. 

“Hey,” Nicky says, trying to start things off on the right foot this time. “Where’s your—“ he sees Joe’s face fall and changes tack as fast as he can “—first round?”

“Just down the hall.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s not here.”

“Okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

Joe’s shoulders sag as if Nicky’s the only one all morning who hasn’t grilled him about where Laura is. “Thanks.”

Nicky and Karda come in first. Joe and his new partner come in third. It’s a hard-won victory for both teams; the field was more competitive than usual, so the victory feels even sweeter. 

The route back to Nicky’s room that night passes by the hotel’s indoor pool, and there’s a person, fully clothed, sitting at the edge with their feet in the water. From the back, judging by the hair, even with the lights off, it looks like Joe. Nicky slips his keycard into the lock to let himself in and pulls off his shoes and socks. With his pants rolled up and a beer in one hand, he sits down next to Joe.

“Were you thinking about a swim?”

“No,” Joe doesn’t turn to face him. “Swim team is in the summer.” 

“Beer?” Nicky holds out the unopened one he’d stuffed in his back pocket. 

“No, thanks.” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah.”

“I know we’re not friends but—“

“I’m sorry about that, by the way. I can’t even remember what was wrong with me that day. Last year there was a lot of pressure from—different directions. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, though. Not then, not before the first debate, either.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

They’re quiet for a while. 

“It was my first competition without her. I thought it would be harder, but really, the only time I missed her was when people asked where she was.”

“That’s okay. Not everything has to be a romance for the ages.”

Joe sighs. “Then why am I sitting in here alone, moping?”

“Well, first of all, you’re not alone. Second, just because Laura wasn’t your soulmate doesn’t mean you can’t grieve a part of your life being over.” Nicky thinks about what would have made him most upset in a situation like this. “Her not being some great, world-ending love of yours? It’s okay to be sad about that, too.”

Joe’s shoulders heave as he takes a deep breath in, then slowly lets it out. “You’re right. I wasn’t sure what it was, but you’re right. Some part of me was hoping I’d miss her more, that she’d be that one I’d want to chase down in the street.”

“Hey, some of us have to be romantics, otherwise who will the cynics pick on?”

The acoustics mean that Joe’s laugh echoes off the walls and feels like it’s coming from everywhere. 

“Are we friends now?” Joe asks. Nicky reaches up to pat Joe on the back, shifting his weight through his hips, so he’s got enough power to push Joe into the water. When he comes up, spluttering, hair hanging lank across his face, he stares at Nicky, who looks back at him with a lopsided smile.

“Now we’re friends.”

The next morning, Karda comes out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging in his mouth, and asks, “Do I want to know why your soaking wet clothes are sitting in the tub?”

“Probably not,” Nicky says, pulling the pillow over his face.

They’re not immediately inseparable after that night. For them, it takes a few more months of tentative emails and forwarding pointless memes to each other over texts. They poke at the edges of their relationship, finding the places where ‘acquaintance’ crosses over into ‘friend.’ Inside jokes come to life, spawning shorthand phrases that only they understand. Nicky shows Joe a couple of his vulnerable spots, and Joe does the same; both of them still a little wary but willing to take the chance. Instead of jabbing at things he knows Joe is sensitive about, Nicky tries to steer him clear of them. 

“Not this show,” he says one night. Joe’s university hosted this tournament, so Nicky’s staying with him in Joe’s off-campus apartment. They’re on the couch, feet on the table, flipping through their options. 

“No?” Joe asks.

Nicky shakes his head. “Some asshole is mean to the dog, and I know how you are about dogs.” 

Joe, who is used to people teasing him about his soft spot for animals, can’t help but smile. “Thanks, Nico.”

He’s the only one who uses that name, Nicky realizes. _I get it now,_ he thinks. _This is my best friend._

That summer, they go on a road trip together, just the two of them, Nicky’s new-to-him car, and a back seat full of snacks that look like a nine-year-old was given a fifty-dollar bill and set loose in a convenience store. They tear through Pennsylvania, looking at schools where Joe is considering doing his graduate work. Nicky’s already picked his ideal law schools, so he’s happy just to be along for the ride.

On the last night of the trip, they’re at a bar in Pittsburgh. Joe is looking at the list of mixed drinks, trying to decide if any of them looks good enough to tempt him. Nicky is checking out the bartender, who absolutely looks good enough to tempt him.

“I was thinking about—What are you looking at?” Joe swivels his head around to follow Nicky’s gaze. “The bartender?”

Nicky nods. The bartender’s shirt is just a little too tight, his jeans hang a little too low, and Nicky’s only human. 

“What about the guy shooting darts?” Joe asks.

The man in question is taller than Nicky, but not by much. He’s got dark hair, and his thighs look like they’re about to shred his jeans. “I would.”

“Me too,” Joe says.

Nicky schools his face before turning back around. He smiles at Joe and pulls the lime out of his beer bottle, scraping at the rind with his fingernail.

“Is that okay?” Joe sounds nervous, and Nicky tries to remember that this isn’t about him; Joe isn’t specifically worried that Nicky will disapprove, because really, how could he? He’s just nervous, and Nicky can remember that feeling. He tries to remember what he would most have wanted to hear at this moment.

“You are my best friend. Nothing that makes you who you are could ever not be ‘okay’ to me.” He grins. “If anyone says otherwise, you tell me; I’ll deal with it.”

Joe rolls his eyes. “My hero."

Nicky is entirely supportive of Joe’s right to date whoever he wants, but really, he has the _worst_ taste in men. Or, rather, he has excellent taste in hookups and terrible taste in boyfriends. The first time Joe brings a man home for the night, he texts Nicky the next morning. It’s a picture of the man’s lower leg, tangled in Joe’s navy blue sheets. At first, Nicky thinks Joe is sending pictures of his own leg until he notices that the subject’s hairs are lighter than Joe’s. A second later, a new message comes in.

> Joe: _well. that was fun_.

_This idiot_ , Nicky thinks.

> Nicky: _great job, sport. you want me to take you out for milkshakes, and you can tell me about it?_

The reply is just a close-up of Joe’s right eye, his eyebrow arched high.

Later, Nicky gets the full report. He learns what Joe liked, what he didn’t, and offers a few pieces of advice. 

“Will you see him again?”

Joe scoffs. “No, he was very pretty, but not someone I’m interested in dating.”

Eventually, Joe does meet someone he wants to date. Joe thinks Marcus is witty, well-read, and passionate. Nicky thinks Marcus is snide, pompous, and argumentative, but Joe doesn’t need to know that.

Marcus is the first in a line of men who all have two things in common: Joe loves them, and Nicky can’t understand why. Something about them makes Joe blind to their flaws, but Nicky keeps his mouth shut every time. Best friends are supportive. Best friends make sure you know that you can come to them if you need them. Best friends do not tell you that your boyfriend is a ‘useless fuckbadger,’ no matter how much they might wish they could. 

He meets the rest of Joe’s family for the first time at Joe’s graduation. The night before, there is a big family dinner, all the siblings and parents, and Nicky. Together, Nicky and Joe drive his parents back to their hotel. On the way out, Joe stops and looks at the pool, then to Nicky, who can only grin in reply.

For an hour, they sit on the edge, their bare feet in the water, and talk around whatever is on Joe’s mind. Nicky can see him circling it.

“Thanks for coming this weekend.”

“You’re my best friend; where else would I be?”

Joe points out that Nicky’s boyfriend is graduating that weekend, too. That Nicky had gotten an invitation to both and had this is the one he chose to attend. 

“He’ll live,” Nicky shrugs. “And if he doesn’t? I don’t want to date someone who doesn’t understand that you’re part of my family, too.”

Leaning toward him, Joe bumps their shoulders together. “Did you invite him to yours?” Nicky nods. “Is he coming?” Another nod. “I’ll get to meet him then.”

“Play nice.”

“I think I’m going to tell my parents.”

“Okay. That’s a hard thing to do; how can I support you?”

Joe rolls his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself sometimes?” He paddles his feet in the water. “What should I do?”

“Give them a chance. That’s my only advice.”

“What if they say they hate me?”

Nicky drapes his arm over Joe’s shoulders. “They won’t. But, even if you think it might be terrible? Tell them anyway. Give them a chance. It might take them a while to come around, but when they do? It’ll be harder for all of you if they find out you spent years making yourself unhappy just to please them.”

Joe drops his head to Nicky’s shoulder. “I’m scared.”

“I know. I love you.”

Nicky grew up surrounded by those words. From family, from friends, every day. To him, these are just things you say to the people who mean the most to you. How could he not love his best friend? In what world would he not say so? Joe, knowing this is one of Nicky’s soft, vulnerable spots, takes it with the respect it deserves and says it back.

“I love you, too.”

> Nicky: _how did it go?_
> 
> Joe: _dad needs a day, i think. mama just wants me to be happy._
> 
> Nicky: _that was hard, but you did it, and you don’t ever have to come out to your parents again_
> 
> Joe: _they both hugged me at the end. hugs from amal too. thank you for letting me borrow your courage_
> 
> Nicky _: it’s what best friends do. that’s me_
> 
> Joe: _it’s what family does. that’s also you_
> 
> Nicky: _love you_
> 
> Joe: _love u 2_

In some ways, it’s easier that after they graduate, because geography isn’t on their side. To be in the same city but too busy to meet up would be worse, even, than only seeing each other over Skype. Having hundreds of miles between them allows them to plan their time, and it keeps them in touch more regularly than assuming they’ll see each other a few days a week. 

Today, Nicky has carved out two hours in between bursts of writing; Joe has decided they’re spending that time watching bad action movies.

“This is the worst movie I’ve ever seen.”

“I doubt that.” Joe tries catching a piece of popcorn in his mouth only to end up chasing it down his t-shirt. “Who was that guy you dated who liked the really gory movies?”

“I stand corrected. Those were worse. Remind me what your criteria were for this?”

“A helicopter has to explode.”

“You’re a simple soul, Joe.”

“Are you honestly going to tell me that you have the brainpower for anything more serious than this?”

Nicky shrugs and refuses to admit defeat. In the background on Joe’s side, a door opens, and Joe sits up, looking past the screen. “You’re early!”

The voice that answers is perfectly ordinary, if a little on the gravelly side. “I thought you wouldn’t mind as long as I brought dinner.”

“Nicky and I are still in the middle of our movie. Come, say hi.”

Joe is joined by a beautiful man who looks to be in his early thirties. “Nice to meet you, Nicky. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Nicky is already coming up with a nickname for him and guessing how long this will last.

“Nice to meet you, too…” he lets the last syllable drag on to show that he doesn’t know this man’s name. Nicky can see his nostrils flare; he’s irritated. A guy who’s already on edge is a terrible fit for Joe, a man who expresses love at least partly through sarcasm. Three months, Nicky decides. 

“Robert,” says Joe. “This is Robert. I told you about him.” The only guy Joe’s mentioned lately is the one from his gym. Nicky looks at the guy’s neck. Right.

“Oh, yes, I recall now.”

“I’m going to go make dinner,” Robert says. “Maybe I’ll join you two when it’s finished.”

“Sure.” Nicky wonders if Robert will ever know Joe enough to hear that thread of irritation in his voice. He downgrades his estimate. Ten weeks. “Okay, hit play, Nicky.”

Eight weeks later, Joe calls in the middle of Nicky’s Constitutional Law class. He doesn’t dare get up and leave, so he sends Joe a note. 

> Nicky: _con law. urgent?_
> 
> Joe: _no. shit. forgot about ur class. call later._

He might as well have gotten up and left for all he learns over the next hour. 

“Why aren’t you in class?”

“Sometimes, you just need to take a day.”

“Joe, you are starting to worry me. What is going on?”

“Robert invited me to Thanksgiving.”

“Okay.”

“Nico, I don’t want to meet Robert’s parents; this isn’t that kind of relationship. It’s not going there.”

“Does Robert know that?” There’s a pause on the line.

“I really hate it when you’re reasonable.”

“Tell him you’ve already accepted an invitation to Thanksgiving at my house.”

“You want me to lie to him?”

“Joe. Come to Thanksgiving with me.”

“Yes?”

“Now, where is the lie?”

“Your mother won’t mind?”

“Joe, most days, my mother loves you more than she loves me.” In truth, only the day before, she’d asked Nicky what Joe was doing for the holiday, and he’d said he wasn’t sure. “I’m starting the drive back on Tuesday. You’re only fifty miles off the route home, I’ll pick you up, and you can ride with me.”

When Nicky pulls up, Joe takes one look at his face, at the bags under his eyes, and pushes him into the passenger seat. “I’m driving,” he says. Nicky sleeps for the next four hours, waking only long enough for Joe and his mother to tuck him into bed. He vaguely wonders where Joe will be sleeping but isn’t conscious long enough to ask.

Nicky wakes up the next morning feeling like an entirely different person. His eyelid isn’t twitching anymore, and he isn’t yawning every ninety seconds. He hugs his mother and lets her fuss over him.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Mama. Where did you put Joe?”

“He’s on the sofa in the basement.” Nicky’s a little jealous. It’s arguably the most comfortable sleeping surface in the house. “I thought I heard him moving around, though, so he might be up shortly.”

Nicky pulls two mugs down and fills them. His own, he leaves black, the other he adds sugar and a tiny amount of milk. When Joe shuffles into the kitchen five minutes later, Nicky puts the mug in his hand.

“This is why I love you,” Joe says. Nicky pats him on the head and steers him toward the table. 

Thursday is filled with family. Nicky’s nieces use Joe as a climbing gym, and when Joe calls for help, Nicky just laughs and makes sure his phone is recording. When Nicky’s sister corners Joe in the kitchen to grill him about graduate school, Nicky comes to his rescue by asking her pointed questions about her future plans until she flees.

“I’ve never seen someone weaponize being a big brother.”

“I have hidden depths.”

Joe laughs so hard he snorts.

As much as his mother tries to convince them to stay another night, Nicky insists they can’t. He needs to get Joe home, and he needs to be back for a study group on Saturday. There are hugs and choruses of ‘I love you’ all around, and the cacophony in the front hall eventually gets so loud that once they’re inside the car, Joe and Nicky just sit for a second in the silence.

“Thanks again,” Joe says.

Nicky cups the back of Joe’s head, ruffling his hair. “It’s in the best friend manual.”

They listen to podcasts and music for a while. They talk about their lives, about what Joe will be doing about Robert. 

“I think he imagines I’m exaggerating how much work I have to do, how much work I’ll still have to do for a least the next three years. Maybe that’s what I’ll do; I’ll just be honest about how little time I have. I want this to work, I honestly do.”

“Let me know if you want me for anything.”

“Thanks, Nico.”

Joe falls asleep not long after, and Nicky does the rest of the drive that night with the volume turned low. From time to time, he casts his gaze to the side, just to check on Joe.

His face is lit only by the satnav screen, but Nicky can still see the way his mouth is open, just a little, and his eyelashes are resting on his cheeks. Nicky will never be able to express how incredible he thinks this man is. Kind and generous and compassionate, he would slay dragons for Nicky, and Nicky knows it. With Joe in his corner, the world is so much wider; it’s endless with possibilities. 

Nicky tugs at the coat Joe is using as a makeshift blanket, pulling it back up over his arms and smoothing it out. The leather is warm from Joe’s skin, and it seeps into Nicky’s palm.

Turning back to the road, Nicky watches the center line slip by in the dark. He sighs, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, and switches to a new playlist.

Robert lasts nine weeks and five days. He says he needs more of Joe’s time, and Joe explains he has no time to give. Things get loud, but not violent, and before long, Joe is curled on his side in bed, venting everything to Nicky over FaceTime.

Over the next three years, Joe averages about one boyfriend per year, and Nicky hates all of them. The boyfriend just before he gets his masters is the worst. One afternoon, Joe excuses himself from their Skype appointment to take a call from his advisor. Anatoly waits less than ten seconds before sliding into Joe’s seat.

“Nicolò. How nice to see you again.”

If this guy thinks he can get to Nicky by picking on his name, he forgets that most children develop a thick skin about this subject or don’t survive the first few years of school. Besides, when it comes to being passive-aggressively presumptive about which forms of each other’s names to use, Nicky can give as good as he gets.

“Always a pleasure, Tolya.”

The outside corner of Anatoly’s right eyelid twitches.

“I thought perhaps we should have a few words while Joe is out of the room.” Nicky raises his eyebrows in query. “I’m aware you two are very close. Could you, perhaps, put me at ease about your intentions?”

Nicky frowns. The unnecessarily grandiose speech is starting to piss him off. He’s not entirely sure that Anatoly thinks Nicky’s stupid, but it’s looking more and more likely every time he structures his sentences like a Victorian travel guide. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You want me to believe you aren’t poised to attack? Alert for weakness in our relationship so you can show yourself to be a potential successor for Joe’s affections?”

Jesus. This guy. “He’s my best friend.”

“The basis for many romantic relationships.”

“I don’t know what is driving these suspicions, but you have no cause to pin your relationship insecurities on my friendship with Joe. He’s his own man, and he makes his own decisions.”

“You don’t want him for yourself?”

Nicky repeats himself, a little slower this time, so Anatoly has no room for misinterpretation. “He is my best friend.” Nicky already has Joe; what is he even talking about?

“If Joe were to find himself single suddenly, you would not be here offering yourself to him the next day?”

“No!” What kind of asshole would throw himself at his best friend right after a breakup?

“So, you would not date him?” 

“I have no interest in dating anyone, and certainly not Joe.” For one thing, when would they find the time? Nicky’s favorite study partner is sleeping with a man who lives on the same floor she does simply because it means they don’t have to leave the building to have sex. Nicky carves out two hours a week, that’s the most free time he can manage, and those hours are for Joe.

“I can take it from here, Anatoly,” says Joe from offscreen. Anatoly grins like a shark and waves goodbye. “Sorry about that,” Joe says as he returns to his seat.

“Where did that even come from?”

“Ridiculous, right?” Joe says. “I told him all that already.” There’s something pinched around Joe’s eyes, and if Nicky didn’t already want to throttle Anatoly, the fact that he put that look on Joe’s face would be reason enough. 

Anatoly hangs around another six months, and of everyone involved, Nicky is most frustrated with himself for having wasted the ‘useless fuckbadger’ nickname so early in Joe’s dating life, not knowing men like Anatoly were still to come. 


	2. astra inclinant, sed non obligant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t talk about moving to the same city together after they’re finished with school. Why would they? That would be like planning for whether or not the sun will come up tomorrow. It's a foregone conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've all been very good and patient, and we put in the time to build a background and foundation for them, but let's not pretend we don't all know what we're really here for.

They don’t talk about moving to the same city together after they’re finished with school. Why would they? That would be like planning for whether or not the sun will come up tomorrow. It's a foregone conclusion.

Nicky gets a job with a firm in DC, public-sector advocacy like he’d wanted. Together, he and another of his classmates starting work in the city rent an apartment barely big enough for the two of them and their meager belongings. Then again, they’re first-year associates; they’re never home enough for it to matter.

Somehow, in between proving himself at the office and his Skype appointments with Joe, Nicky finds time for a boyfriend, though not a serious one. Kit's a sweet guy, quiet and funny. He doesn’t demand too much from Nicky’s already overloaded schedule, and he certainly doesn’t barge into Nicky’s time with Joe. If his big brown eyes and soft curls seem familiar, Nicky somehow doesn’t notice.

Joe is Kit's biggest champion. He's excited to hear about the new guy, offers to reschedule calls if necessary, even waves him over to say 'hi' during a Skype session. His encouragement of Nicky's relationship seems sincere and honest, making Nicky feel like an absolute heel. He vows that next time, he'll try to be more accepting of Joe's new guy. Or at least pretend better.

He and Kit don’t so much break up as they gradually drift apart. More and more time passes between phone calls and dates until one day, Nicky’s single again, and while he misses the physical affection, he can always find someone in a club to make out with for a while if he gets too antsy. Joe, because he really is the best of men, is sympathetic and supportive, saying Kit was great, but Nicky deserves better than just ‘great.’

“You have to promise me,” Joe says Skype one night. He’s stopped picking through a carton of Thai food to gesture emphatically with his chopsticks. “Promise me you’ll hold out for someone who loves you at least as much as I do.”

Nicky can’t help but smile. The best of men. “So, you’re saying you want me to be single forever?”

  
A year after Nicky moves into that apartment, Joe gets hired by a research firm not far from Nicky’s office.

“Statistical modeling, the kind of stuff that bores you shitless.”

“It does not bore me,” Nicky insists. It might, if anyone but Joe were explaining it. Something about how much Joe loves the subject makes it fascinating to Nicky. “Where will you be living?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I’m thinking of getting a place of my own. I haven’t lived by myself since— ever. It might be nice. It’ll give you a place to run away to if you need it.”

The place Joe eventually finds is tiny, but it’s all his, and it has a rooftop garden that he says is the perfect place to sit and read. Nicky helps him move in, helps him arrange the beat-up sofa and chair he loves so much, and put together his bed. After, they sit on opposite ends of the couch, their legs draped over each other, watching anything that doesn’t tax their brains too much.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Joe says, nudging Nicky with his toe.

“I’m glad we’re living in the same city now. I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

They pass out on the couch not long after and sleep the sleep of the truly physically exhausted.

Sometime after three in the morning, Joe goes to roll over and plants his heel directly on Nicky’s dick. “Hey, asshole,” Nicky swats him on the leg. “Get off of me and go to bed. We built the bed frame for a reason.”

Joe snuffles and pulls the blanket higher on his shoulders, but after another firm swat to the ankle, he does finally get up and relocate himself to the bedroom. On the way past, he looks at Nicky. “You good out here?”

“I'm much better now that my balls are no longer being used as a launching pad. Thank you for asking.”

Joe kisses him on the top of the head, shuffling away and calling, “It’s in the best friend manual,” over his shoulder as he flops down on the mattress.

They spend their Sunday stocking Joe’s refrigerator and unpacking his things.

“You’re going to need more bookshelves.”

“I always need more bookshelves.”

“And this is part of why I love you, and you’re my best friend.”

When Joe’s phone rings later, Nicky glances at the display and calls out to Joe, who is hauling boxes out to the recycling bin. “Your mother is calling.”

“Answer it!” he shouts back. Not a hardship; Nicky adores Joe's mother.

“Hello, Yusuf’s just gone downstairs for a moment. He’ll be right back.”

“Who is this stranger answering my son's phone? I might think it was his best friend, but it's been so long since I spoke to him, I wouldn't know his voice.”

Nicky can hear her smiling, and he can't help but grin. “I missed you, too.”

“Terrible boy. We're thinking of coming for a visit next month. You'll come to dinner?"

"Of course! My parents will also be in town next month; I'd suggest we all get together, but I'm not sure I want you all joining forces."

"We're your parents, Nicky. We're frail and harmless."

Nicky snorts. "They'll be here the second weekend."

"Perfect. I'll let you boys plan something. How is work?”

For the next few minutes, Nicky and Joe’s mother catch up, and she takes the opportunity to tell him how glad she is that her Yusuf will have a Nicky by his side in this new place.

“He’s in good hands, I promise.”

“I know,” she says, and her voice is so warm Nicky can feel it in his bones.

  
For the first year, he and Joe live practically in each other’s pockets. They spend their weekends together. Joe is over at Nicky’s place at least two nights a week, complaining about his uncomfortable couch. Nicky spends at least one night out of each week at Joe’s, cooking and making fun of his taste in movies. They haven’t had the luxury of living in the same place like this, not since those scattered weekends when they stayed in the same hotel for competitions as undergraduates.

After a year like that, Nicky’s the one to break the streak. “I can’t make it this Saturday. I have a date.”

“When were you going to tell me you met someone?”

“I did tell you!”

“Wait, is this the guy from the coffee shop?”

“Yes, that one. He worked up the courage to ask for my number, and we’re going to dinner on Saturday.”

“Nicky. The guy from the coffee shop. You’re living in cliché.”

“Perhaps. If I play my cards right though, I might also be getting laid in a cliché.”

“Don’t bring him back to your apartment right away. Your couch is a nightmare, and you want him to be invested in you before he sits on it for the first time.”

“My couch is fine for now. I’ll get something else when I have to. Besides, you hardly have room to talk about clichés. You have your own to deal with.” Joe’s ears go pink, and he tries to pretend he has no idea what Nicky’s talking about, that he didn’t meet a handsome stranger when they’d both hid from the rain under the same awning the week before.

Trying his best to look like he’s in a huff, Joe gets up from the sofa and heads for the kitchen area. “Remind me why you’re my best friend again?”

“Because of everyone who’s ever learned that you cry at videos of baby animals, I’m the only one who responded by sending you more videos of baby animals instead of teasing you.” He holds his hand up in the air, and Joe grabs it as he walks by, squeezing before they both let go.

  
Two months later, Nicky has to find a new favorite coffee shop, as things with Mark implode. Joe, on the other hand, is still seeing Ian six months past that. He’s stuck around long enough that Joe thinks it’s time to see if he survives the Nicky test.

Ian is. Perfectly acceptable as a person. He’s not good enough for Joe, and he never will be, but whether or not he sticks around isn’t Nicky’s decision. Still, of all the men Nicky’s had to watch Joe date, Ian is the least objectionable. He is, as the paralegal in Nicky’s office would say, Queen of the Ugly Prom.

The meal is a disaster, but Ian eats it with a smile and does the dishes after. He lets Joe pick the movie, and he laughs at Nicky’s jokes. He’s within spitting distance of victory, very nearly becoming the only one of Joe’s significant others that Nicky has ever been able to stand, and then bedtime comes.

Nicky’s had enough wine with dinner that Joe points him at the couch and brings out his favorite pillow and blanket. “Don’t stay up all night watching TV,” Joe says in his best imitation of his mother.

“I’ll be sure to tell her you did that.”

“If you remember it tomorrow.”

Joe and Ian go into the bedroom and close the door behind them.

The TV is off, Nicky’s got his phone plugged in and is starting to have those free-association thoughts that mean he’s drifting off to sleep when he’s jolted awake by the sound of Joe’s voice saying, “Yes.” Then the same again, but this time it’s several syllables long, and the last five are all nothing but the letter ’s.’

Nicky can hear Ian’s voice, low and muffled, but can’t make out any words. When Ian laughs, a positively obscene chuckle, it’s followed by the sound of Joe gasping just once.

Everything is quiet for a minute or two, and Nicky feels like he might be able to ignore this and get some sleep. Until the bed frame squeaks. The second time, it’s followed by a wordless cry from Joe and another throaty chuckle from Ian.

Grabbing his phone, Nicky sends Joe an email saying they need to get him a new bed frame. (He considers a text, but he knows Joe would check it, and Nicky's trying to be a smartass, not a jackass.)

It continues like that for another ten minutes, at least. A squeak from the bed frame, a moan, or a cry from Joe, Ian’s voice saying something Nicky can’t hear. Lather, rinse, repeat. Nicky is frowning so hard he can feel his eyebrows meeting.

The rhythm is broken a few seconds later by Joe's long, low groan.

Nicky punches the pillow under his head, trying to form it into some shape that will let him get some sleep even while he’s ten feet and one shitty hollow-core door from a porn set. He’s cursing his dry streak in the wake of Mark because this would be a lot easier to ignore if he weren’t hard as a rock. So, on top of everything else, now he feels like a creep.

He’s ready to pull the pillow over his head and hope for the best when Ian’s voice finally gets loud enough for Nicky to be able to make out a few words.

“…..good….. pretty…. quiet….”

Joe says something that anyone else might have missed, but Nicky’s been listening to Joe’s half-awake ramblings for most of a decade by now, and he recognizes “Please” when he hears it. The next sound is a moan from Joe, higher-pitched, and more urgent.

“So nice,” Ian says. “Just… right there… open…”

Joe makes a sound like “Ah!” and stifles a whine.

“Oh no,” Ian says, clear as day now. “I want to hear you be nice and loud for me.”

Whatever Joe says is lost in a moan and a sharp squeak from the bed frame.

Ian chuckles again. “I’m sure he’s asleep, and if he’s not, he’s a grown-up; he knows what goes on in bedrooms.”

Joe hisses something in reply before something pushes a choked-off groan from his mouth.

“Well, maybe I want him to hear,” Ian says.

Nicky has to hand it to Ian. He’s killed a hard-on faster than any cold shower Nicky’s ever taken. He’s also, in the span of five minutes, somehow over-taken Anatoly as the worst boyfriend Joe’s ever had.

Part of Nicky wants to stubbornly refuse to leave, to look Ian straight in the face tomorrow as if he hadn’t heard a sound. Another part, a larger part, thinks that if Ian wanted to start bringing an audience to their sex life, the least he could do was clear it with Joe first.

He scribbles a note about an early meeting, folds the blanket, and sneaks out as quietly as he can. It means he has to spend the next hour and a half sitting in his car before he’s sure he’s sobered up completely, but that’s a small price to pay.

From the way Joe answers the phone the next morning, it’s clear he thinks Nicky’s going to be mad at him.

“Sorry about last night.”

“What about it?”

“I didn’t expect things to get that loud after we went to bed.”

“Joe, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.” Which he’s pretty sure marks the first time Nicky’s ever outright lied to his best friend.

“So, did he pass the Nicky test?”

Nicky doesn’t know what to say to that. Primarily because he’s not sure which part of speech he wants the word “fuck” to be in his answer. Possibly all of them.

“Ah,” says Joe, after the pause drags on for another second, and for an instant, in his head, Nicky can hear that word like Joe had said it the night before, high-pitched and needy.

To his credit, Joe doesn’t try to put Nicky and Ian in the same room again. Nicky might expect this to change things more than it does. Joe still comes to Thanksgiving with Nicky’s family. Nicky is invited to the family dinner at Joe’s parents’ house. If he’s now seeing Joe three days a week instead of five? Nicky can live with that.

When Nicky’s lease is up, he and his roommate part amicably, and Nicky finds a little one-bedroom apartment not far from Joe and within walking distance of the nearest Metro. It's quiet, and if he squints, on a clear day, he can see some of the monuments. Joe helps him move in; Ian doesn’t.

They might have gone on like that forever, best friends whose lives were so intertwined it was hard to tell where one started and the other stopped, if Joe hadn’t decided to make off with Nicky’s favorite hoodie.

It’s missing for weeks before Nicky begins to suspect it might not have gotten lost in the wash. By the time he goes to Joe’s that night, he’s almost given up on finding it again.

Nicky pulls into the closest parking spot to the door and texts Joe to say he’s downstairs. There’s no answer, which usually means that Joe’s fallen asleep on the couch after work. (‘Because on my couch, I can actually sleep.’) With that in mind, Nicky uses his key to let himself in and quietly puts his backpack down by the door. He can see Joe’s feet hanging over the end of the couch, so his guess was right.

Sliding his book out of his bag, Nicky is prepared to drop himself into the chair opposite the sofa and read until Joe wakes up, or he gets hungry enough to guess at what Joe might want and order some food. That’s his plan until he comes around the sofa and gets a better look at Joe.

Nicky must have left his usual pillow out here on the couch because Joe is curled on his side with it clutched to his chest. The dark green fabric and yellow drawstring of the hoodie are all Nicky needs to know that it’s the one he’s been missing. If this were anyone else, if it were his sister, another friend, even Joe’s sister, Nicky would poke them until they woke up and gave him his clothing back. But this is Joe. His best friend. His Joe. Something twists in Nicky’s chest and feels behind him for the coffee table so he can sit down.

Elbows on his knees, face in his hands, waiting for his heart to stop racing, Nicky tries to make sense of the noise in his head.

The pink of Joe’s lower lip shows at the center of the beard he started growing six weeks ago, and his eyes are moving under his lids. Nicky knows that when Joe wakes up, he’s going to have stories about whatever bizarre dreams he’s having. The only thing Nicky wants more than to hear those stories is to keep watching Joe, wrapped up in Nicky’s clothes, holding Nicky’s pillow, asleep as he waits for Nicky to arrive. Joe and his life tangled up in Nicky like Nicky is tangled up in Joe’s. Like they were meant to be that way.

When he can take a breath again, his thoughts start slotting into place, and—

_Oh._

_Of course._

It seems foolish that he could have missed this.

_How long have I been in love with you, do you suppose? Months? Years? Always?_

He doesn't have an answer, but does it matter? He is now. He will be every day after this.

Joe stretches and blinks. “Nicky?”

Licking his lips to wet them, Nicky says, “Right here. Just enjoying my book.”

“You’re just in time.”

As Joe arches to the side for another big stretch, the hoodie rides up, and Nicky thinks, ‘ _I wonder what that skin smells like_?'

He bites the inside of his cheek, shaking it off. “For what? For you to quit running off with my clothes?”

Joe sits up, plucking at the hoodie. “Oh, this is yours.” He stuffs his hands in the pocket. “We’re having a farewell party for this apartment, you and me and the TV.” Nicky doesn’t like where this is heading. “Ian wants us to move into together. I’d still see you at your place, and I’d be saving money so we can do another road trip, just us.”

“That sounds amazing, Joe.” Nicky is impressed with how much it doesn’t sound like he’s having spikes driven under his fingernails. “Just make sure you’re both on the lease, okay?”

Joe stares at him, very still, blinks twice, and says, “Of course I will.” Which would be more convincing if blinking and holding very still wasn’t Joe’s biggest tell.

‘ _This,_ ’ Nicky thinks, ‘ _is going to be an absolute shit show._ '

  
Joe and Ian have a bit of a honeymoon period after they move in together. For a few months, Joe looks well-rested, well-fed, and well-fucked. If Ian wanders through the room while Joe and Nicky are on the phone, he even manages to be polite. Secretly, Nicky's sure Ian thinks he won. As if Joe is something to be fought over like the last cookie in the box. Because Joe is his best friend, Nicky listens to him rave about the wonders of domestic bliss without ever grinding his teeth loud enough for Joe to hear. It's not even particularly difficult; wanting Joe to be happy is Nicky's natural state. He's just dreading the point when the roller coaster stops climbing.

The fourth month, Nicky can almost hear the tick-tick-tick as the climb starts slowing. Joe goes from seeing Nicky three times a week to four, and when he comes over, he doesn't want to talk about Ian. Most often, the two of them sit on the sofa together and read, enjoying their little oasis of quiet in the middle of their lives. When Joe arrives at the end of a long day, he drops his bag with a heavy _thunk_ and opens his arms. Nicky smiles like this isn’t as terrible as it is wonderful and hugs him for as long as Joe wants, drinking in the feel of Joe in his arms, the smell of his neck. Joe jams his feet under Nicky’s legs to keep his toes warm; Nicky uses Joe's lower legs as a book-rest and doesn't ask questions.

Month five is the roller coaster's last, slow crawl to the top. Instead of being at Nicky's place four days out of seven, Joe drops down to only two. He and Ian are trying to take some more time together, he says. Nicky nods. "Whatever you need. I’m your best friend. I love you, and I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?" Joe buries his nose in the crook of Nicky's neck and sighs as Nicky hugs him. Nicky can feel him nodding.

What he doesn’t say is that Joe is the easiest person to love that Nicky’s ever met. That everything about him makes Nicky’s heart happy. He doesn’t say that anyone who makes Joe feel like he’s hard to love doesn’t deserve to have Joe in his life, let alone be on the receiving end of one of his smiles. Nicky wants to launch Ian into the sun.

The two weeks after they hit the six-month mark feel like being poised at the top of the first drop. Nicky does his best to act naturally, but he can feel the tension rolling off of Joe in waves. Everything is braced, waiting, holding its breath. "Do you want to talk about anything?" Nicky asks.

"Please, Nicky. I need a place where I don't have to. No explaining things or talking about--" he waves his arm as if to indicate, just, everything.

"I can do that," Nicky says. "Want me to pick the place for dinner?"

"Yes, that would be very nice. I love you.” Joe rubs at his closed eyes with the heels of his hands and drops his head back against the couch. From where he’s standing, behind Joe, Nicky reaches down to run his fingers through Joe’s hair and jostle his head.

"It's in the manual."

  
Nicky isn't sure he'll ever know what the tipping point was. He only knows that by the time Joe calls him the next Thursday, things are already rocketing downhill.

"Hey, I thought you and Ian were at dinner."

"No. No more dinners with Ian. No more anything with Ian."

"Fuck. I'm sorry, Joe."

"Nico, I can't live with him anymore."

"Okay. You don't have to."

"I-- I should have listened to my mother. Should have listened to my gut. I should have listened to you, Nico."

The other shoe drops right in the spot Nicky was expecting it.

He won't make Joe say it. "Ian's the only person on the lease. Do you have your most important things?"

"Yes." Joe takes a breath. "Can--"

Nicky cuts him off before he can ask because if Joe has to ask, he’ll feel like a burden every day he’s in Nicky’s apartment. "If you want, you are welcome here for as long as you need. Anywhere I have a home, you have a home."

"That would be great, Nico."

"Where are you now?"

Joe pauses. "Outside."

  
Nicky is waiting at the open door when Joe gets out of the elevator. He takes Joe’s bag with one hand and wraps the other arm around his shoulders. Joe’s head tips onto Nicky’s shoulder and Nicky kisses his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Joe says.

Nicky's not sorry that things with Ian seem to be over, but he’s very, very sorry that Joe was collateral damage in Ian’s meteoric rise to Supreme Fuckbadger.

“Come on; dinner’s ready.”

What Joe probably wants right now is to wallow for a bit, so Nicky puts him to work. It’s probably not the healthiest approach, but Nicky is a fan of keeping just ahead of whatever is waiting to swallow you whole. “Would you get some bowls? And spoons?”

It’s not fancy, just chicken soup that Nicky made with leftovers from another dinner earlier in the week and a package of egg noodles he’d found crammed in the back of the cupboard, but it’s hot, and it tastes better than anything out of a can.

They take their customary seats on the sofa, but Nicky makes no move to turn on the TV. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you want to, I’m here, and I’m not going any farther than the bedroom.” He gestures at a pile on the recliner. “I grabbed a blanket and some pillows. Whenever you’re ready to kick me out so you can sleep, just say the word.”

There’s a kind of primal, evolutionary drive that wants Nicky to gloat, to badmouth Ian, or tell Joe how much better off he is without the guy. Nicky crushes that urge. Deriding the man Joe chose to date, to love, to live with, would only make Joe feel worse.

“In the meantime, can I interest you in a movie with exploding helicopters?”

It’s the first time Joe’s come close to smiling since he arrived, and Nicky’s going to count that as a win. By the time the first helicopter explodes, Joe has finished most of his soup, and his face has lost a bit of the pinched, exhausted expression he’s had for what feels like weeks. His feet are wedged under Nicky’s legs, and if it weren’t for the enormous duffle bag Joe brought in, this might feel like any other Thursday.

“Thank you, Nico. For letting me stay, and feeding me, and not telling me how terrible he was. I know he was terrible, but—“

“I get it, I do. Remember Kevin?” Nicky had spent six dizzying weeks imagining himself in love with Kevin. It seems like a moon-cast shadow compared to what he feels for Joe, but at the time, it felt enormous. “My sister spent fifteen minutes listing every terrible thing she’d seen in Kevin the first time they met. I know she was trying to cheer me up, but it just made me feel like an idiot for missing all those signs and picking such a jerk in the first place.”

Joe sighs. “Yeah. Tonight, I think I just want to sleep but, maybe tomorrow? I can tell you what happened.” He’s leaning to the side, his hand outstretched to put his soup bowl on the table, when two things happen almost at the same time. First, there’s an ear-splitting crack, then Nicky is sitting much lower than he had been a second ago, and he’s leaning dangerously to the right. He yelps, grabbing at the back of the sofa.

All the indignity is worth it when Joe starts laughing.

“The central support must have finally gone,” Nicky says.

“Let the record show, counselor, that I’ve told you repeatedly that your couch was sagging, yet you insisted it was fine.”

“I didn’t say it was fine. I said I was happy to just live with it until—“ he gestures at the couch “—something like this happened. Now it has.”

“Now, can we get you a nicer couch?”

“I don’t know that we can go with ’nicer,’ given the amount I still owe on my student loans, but we can get me _another_ couch.”

Nicky’s fine, enjoying the absurdity of their positions until he sees the pile of blankets on the chair next to them. The blankets Joe was going to use when he slept on this couch.

_Ah, fuck._

“I guess, uh, I guess you’re bunking in with me.”

Joe looks startled, but not necessarily upset. “It’s a king-sized bed, Nico, but I can still manage to kick you if you snore loud enough to wake me up.”

Nicky grins at him, pretending he’s not screaming inside his head. “Understood.”

Both of them vow never to tell another soul what kind of gymnastic moves they have to pull to escape the gravity well of the couch. Once they’ve freed themselves, Joe goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and change for bed. While he’s gone, Nicky brings the blankets and pillows back into the bedroom and slips on his pajamas. Usually, he sleeps in boxers if he sleeps in anything at all, but right now, he has no faith in his body’s ability to restrain its reactions to Joe. The last thing he needs is for Joe to roll over in the morning to find Nicky’s erection hanging out the fly of his boxers, pointing at Joe like a divining rod.

“Do you have an alarm set for work,” Nicky asks.

Joe nods, plugging in his phone. “I’m all set.”

When the lights are off, and they’re both in bed, curled on their sides, facing each other, Joe clears his throat. “Nico?”

Oh, Nicky recognizes that tone. “Come here.” He opens his arms and folds Joe into them. Joe wraps one arm around Nicky’s waist, resting his forehead against the center of Nickys’ chest. He sighs, and for a second, Nicky pretends that Joe is feeling comforted by his smell.

“Thanks for being my best friend.”

Nicky kisses the top of Joe’s head. “You’d do the same for me. You _have_ done the same for me. I’m just glad I could help in some way.”

“See if you still feel that way after I’ve wrapped myself around you.”

“What?” He tries to make it not a yelp; it doesn’t work.

“I’m so used to sleeping next to Ian, even when we were fighting, so if my brain forgets where I am while I’m sleeping and tries to snuggle you, just nudge me until I move. Ignore me if I grumble. I promise you. I won’t be awake.”

One night. He can do this for one night, and tomorrow evening, after work, they’ll get a new couch. “Not a problem, I know how it is.” Does he?

Separating, they each return to their side of the bed and say goodnight. Nicky sits like that, in the dark, for a long time before he finally falls asleep.

  
If Nicky thought Joe had been exaggerating about the snuggling, he was in for a nasty surprise.

Just after four, when Nicky’s bladder wakes him up, he finds Joe pressed up against his back, one arm wrapped around Nicky’s chest, and one leg slotted between his knees.

“Joe?” he whispers, then louder, “Joe.” Taking him at his word, Nicky nudges Joe’s arm until he can slip free.

Brow furrowing in confusion, Joe mumbles, “Where y’goin’?”

“I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

A little smile plays across Joe’s face. “Mmmgood. Was nice.”

In the bathroom, Nicky rests his hands on the sink, bracing himself. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”

When he gets back to the bedroom, he can see that Joe is in the exact center of the bed. Even so, there’s enough room for Nicky to sleep without touching him, provided he stays close to the edge and sleeps on his side.

Or.

They’re going to get a couch the next day. This is the only night Nicky will get, and Joe’s already expecting to wake up with Nicky in his arms. Surely, _surely_ he can be forgiven this one selfish indulgence when Joe isn’t even awake to see. He’s not even doing anything; he’s just not making any effort to avoid Joe’s determined snuggling. Would it be so bad?

Slipping between the covers, Nicky scoots closer to the center of the bed, turning his back to Joe, as he had been before. When he’s close enough to brush against Joe’s fingers, Joe’s arm snakes out and pulls Nicky flush against him. What kills Nicky isn’t all the touching. It isn’t even the way he can smell Joe’s skin. No, what finally, irrevocably fucks him is the happy little sighing sound Joe makes as he tightens his arm around Nicky’s chest and brushes his nose against the top of Nicky’s spine.

By the time Nicky wakes up, Joe has been gone for long enough that the cup of coffee he poured for Nicky is cool enough to drink. Refusing to stoop as low as smelling Joe’s pillow, Nicky showers, and dresses for work. He doesn’t have to turn to the pillow, it turns out, because even when he’s not here, Joe is everywhere in the apartment. The bathroom smells like his deodorant, the kitchen smells like his coffee (Nicky keeps a little on hand, just in case), and right near the door, so faint Nicky might almost have missed it, is a lingering ghost of his beard oil.

Figuring that he’s already given in just by moving through the same space Joe had, Nicky pauses as he’s packing up his work bag, stalks back into the bedroom, and spends ten seconds with his face buried in Joe’s pillow. It smells incredible, and Nicky is left to wonder how it’s possible that he went from not knowing he felt this way at all to having it take over his routine like this.

Joe texts not long after lunch to say that it’s going to be a late night for him, that he’s not expecting to be back to the apartment before at least ten, and Nicky shouldn’t feel the need to stay up. That means no couch shopping. Nicky could go by himself, of course, but it only seems fair to let Joe help, given that he’s the one who’s going to be sleeping on it.

So. One more night in bed with Joe. He can handle this. He _can_ handle this. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know, I tried writing this without the italicized 'Oh,' and while it worked, it just felt empty somehow. 
> 
> Thank you all for such lovely comments and feedback on the first chapter! Each comment or kudos is a gem and a joy and I treasure them.


	3. dum spiro spero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky brings one hand up to hold Joe’s arm, where it crosses his chest. He traces the lines of Joe’s forearm with his fingers, barely brushing the skin, but feeling how warm Joe is, how real and alive and right here in Nicky’s bed. All at once, it feels like Nicky’s chest isn’t big enough to hold his heart, not big enough to hold how grateful he is to have Joe in his life, to have this amazing best friend, to be in love with him this much, even if it’s never returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, huddle up. There's a moment in this one where Nicky frowns, and though it isn't remotely important in the greater scheme of things, I need you to know that in my head that frown makes him look exactly like the angry-but-not-vamped Angel puppet. Thankfully, unlike Angel, Nicky's nose doesn't come off.

It’s well after eleven when the door finally creaks open. Nicky’s been working on some heavy documentation this week, and his brain is tired, so he’s in bed by then. Soaking in the simple everyday joy of it, Nicky listens to Joe go about his nighttime routine. Joe pads through the room, digging a clean t-shirt out of his bag, brushing his teeth, plugging in his phone. There’s a long moment of quiet where it seems like nothing happens at all, and if Nicky weren’t so close to asleep himself, he might ask if Joe’s okay.

The bed dips as Joe climbs in and tugs the blanket up where he wants it. Hearing Joe’s quiet, regular breathing, Nicky feels himself drifting off. At the last second, so close to sleep he might be half-dreaming, he hears Joe say, “Good night, Nico.”

Saturday morning, Nicky’s body clock wakes him up not long after eight. He’s in the same position as last night, feeling the reassuring warmth of Joe spooned up behind him. Joe isn’t snoring, exactly, but there's a weight and a texture to his breathing which say he’s still fast asleep. Nicky brings one hand up to hold Joe’s arm, where it crosses his chest. He traces the lines of Joe’s forearm with his fingers, barely brushing the skin, but feeling how warm Joe is, how real and alive and right here in Nicky’s bed. All at once, it feels like Nicky’s chest isn’t big enough to hold his heart, not big enough to hold how grateful he is to have Joe in his life, to have this amazing best friend, to be in love with him this much, even if it’s never returned.

Joe is stubborn, he likes terrible movies, and he leaves his wet towels on the bed, but none of that stops Nicky from believing he's the best man in the world. Ducking his head, trying so hard not to make contact with Joe’s skin, Nicky brushes his lips across Joe’s forearm. He imagines this is their bed, the one they share because they're in love, and what they would do if they woke up together like this.

Nicky would turn and kiss Joe, would say ‘good morning’ and ‘I love you,’ and Joe would say it back, he would mean it the same way Nicky does. The fantasy vanishes with a nearly-audible ‘pop’ as someone turns on the shower in the apartment above Nicky’s, and the noise wakes Joe. Unwrapping himself as quickly as he can, Joe scoots back to the far side of the bed.

For the next few minutes, Nicky stays in the same spot, feeling his back grow cold and his heart grow heavy. He waits just long enough that Joe won’t think he’s the reason Nicky’s awake, then rolls over, stretching and groaning a little.

“Good morning,” Joe says. “I love you, my friend, but you are a miserable blanket thief.”

The words are all there, but it feels like a slap. ‘good morning’ and ‘I love you,’ without the weight of being in love, like some cruel parody of Nicky’s dream. Taking a deep breath, Nicky resolves to get on with his day and be grateful he has this friendship, the best one of his life. He throws the covers back and gets out of bed.

“I don’t want to hear about it from you," Nicky says. "A man with toes so cold I think there might be some kind of underlying condition.” He stretches again, letting Joe have first crack at the bathroom. “Couch shopping today?” he calls.

“Can’t. We’re doing that thing with my family.” Right. It’s the youngest’s birthday. Nicky had forgotten entirely. It’s a two-hour ride to Joe’s parents’ house. Four hours of driving and whatever time they spend there. Furniture shopping is out of the question.

“Tomorrow, then?”

Joe steps out of the bathroom. “Sounds great. Sundays are for sofas or something.”

The door to Joe’s parents’ house opens before they’ve even turned off the engine. It’s the birthday boy himself.

“Hey,” he calls as they get out of the car. “Do I have to pretend to be sad that you’re done with Ian?”

It’s not that Sam is Nicky’s favorite of Joe’s siblings; it’s just that he’s the one who gives the least fucks about propriety, so he's the one who says everything Nicky has to bottle up. With a supreme effort, Nicky schools his face not to be smiling when Joe turns to him. He squeezes Joe's shoulder. “We’ve got this. Come on.”

Nicky follows Joe through the door, which means Joe can’t see him wink at Sam.

Joe’s mother bustles him off to the kitchen so she can fuss over him out of sight of his siblings. Nicky’s glad because Joe’s overdue for falling apart a little, and where better to do it? 

Lunch is just burgers because that’s what Sam had asked for, but it’s still amazing. For one thing, Nicky didn’t have to cook it or order it, though he will absolutely help clean up. He’s long-since stopped being 'company' as far as Joe's family is concerned. 

His dad grills both Joe and Nicky about work, asking what they’re doing to try and distinguish themselves. He lectures them a bit on their work ethic, and Nicky can see from Sam’s face that they’re hardly the first recipients of this treatment today. Digging into his bag of tricks, Nicky compliments the lawn, and he can almost feel the spotlight turning away from them.

Under the table, Joe takes Nicky’s hand and squeezes it. Before he can stop himself, Nicky rubs his thumb back and forth across Joe’s fingers. When he goes to jerk his hand back, Joe squeezes tighter. Maybe Joe just needs reassurance right now, but maybe not.

The sleep-snuggling is one thing, Nicky could excuse that, and Joe’s given a reasonable explanation for it, and they’ve always been huggers, but hand-holding? That’s something new. A little green shoot of hope starts growing in Nicky’s chest. Hand-holding could be a couple thing. Sure, the break-up is still so new, but if Nicky thought this might be a possibility, he’d go as slow as Joe needs.

On the way home, Nicky promises himself he’ll try the hand thing again. If Joe lets him, if he squeezes back again and lets Nicky rub his knuckles, Nicky will say something. Maybe it will be something big, like, “Waking up next to you is how I want to start every day.” Then again, maybe it will be something small, something like, “This is nice.” If the right words don’t come, then Nicky will just kiss the back of Joe’s hand and see what Joe does.

There’s a risk, yes, but Joe would never turn him away for trying, and the reward is immeasurable.

Nicky’s belly is in knots, but his heart feels so light.

  
After lunch, Joe and his sister are on washing up duty. Nicky volunteers to bring the dishes into them. He gets all the plates in one go, but the glasses take more than one trip. On the second trip, Nicky stops before he rounds the corner to adjust his grip on one of the glasses, and he hears Joe and his sister talking.

“So, you're just living with Nicky now?” Amal asks.

“He’s letting me crash there until I can find a place.”

“Just crash there?” She’s teasing Joe. Nicky can hear it in her tone. He hangs back, letting the conversation play out. “When are you going to give up on trying to find a guy you like being with as much as you like being with Nicky and just _date Nicky?”_

“Not happening, Amal. See, I blame television for this. Everyone’s always falling into relationships with their best friends. Nicky and I aren’t like that. I love him, but we are never going to date.”

Nicky feels something crawling up from the pit of him, clawing nausea that has him leaning against the wall, trying to calm his breathing.

“You aren’t even considering it. You’re just dismissing it out of hand.”

“Trust me. This is something I’ve thought about, and—“ Joe’s voice trails off. “It’s not going to happen. We don't have that kind of relationship.”

“Fine,” she says, and she sounds disgusted.

Better to know now, Nicky thinks, than to find out later and have to wallow in that awkwardness while they’re stuck in the car together. He takes a deep breath, tries to wipe any expression off his face, and takes the last few glasses into the kitchen.

“Oh good,” Amal says. “I knew there were a few more out there.” One by one, she takes them and runs them through the soapy water, scrubbing them clean. “Joe says you guys are never, ever going to go out, that you’re just absolutely not like that. What do you think?”

Her birthday is next month. Nicky’s considering getting her something poisonous.

“Well, he would know, wouldn’t he? So if I were you, I’d take his word for it.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Nicky,” Joe says, but Nicky’s halfway out of the room already.

Locked in the bathroom, he takes stock of the situation. In reality, the way things are right now is no different from how they were when they woke up. Helplessly in love with his best friend, knowing there’s no chance. There’d been a little hiccup in the middle, but that's behind him now, and can move forward. Right. This is fine.

This is going to be fine.

  
On the way home, they’re stopped at a light when Joe says, “Thank you for coming with me.”

“I always come to things with your family. If I didn’t, your mother would kill me.”

“I know, but thank you anyway.” Leaning across the center console, Joe wraps his arms around Nicky’s shoulders for a quick, tight hug. “Thanks for being my best friend,” he says into the side of Nicky’s neck.

“It’s in the manual,” Nicky says, returning the hug. “But right now, I need to drive.”

Laughing, Joe sits back in his seat. “Movie tonight?”

“Lens flare or big blue death beam?”

Joe laughs. “You pick.”

  
They’re up far too late watching movies and talking, so by the time they’re up and dressed and fed, it’s nearly noon.

“Do we have to go sofa shopping today?” Nicky says.

Joe shrugs. “You’re the one dealing with my cold toes until you get one.”

“I can bear it for another day.”

“We should get the old one out of here, though.”

Eventually, later that afternoon, Nicky takes a break from reading things for work, and Joe takes a break from playing games on his phone, and they move the old, broken couch out of the apartment. The weather is relatively cool, but it’s still not easy work. Unfortunately, they need to take the elevator to get back to the apartment, and now Nicky’s trapped in a small box with the smell of Joe, warm and a little sweaty.

Nicky stares at the number panel so hard he’s surprised isn’t burning a hole in it.

  
They don’t get a sofa the next night, and Nicky has stopped feeling guilty about how pleased he is to have another night sleeping next to Joe.

After another week, they move the remaining chairs closer together, putting a footstool where someone in either chair can use it. That night, they sit quietly, reading, and Nicky can feel Joe’s foot tap against his whenever he fidgets. Sofas, Nicky thinks, are incredibly overrated.

  
The third week starts with something that changes Nicky’s entire game plan. He wakes up, and Joe isn’t at his back. Oh, he’s still in the bed, still warm and soft and breathing in that way that’s almost, but not entirely, snoring. It’s just that he’s an arm’s length away, sleeping curled up facing Nicky. In the back of Nicky’s head is a vague memory of Joe waking up in the middle of the night, so he's betting the full-contact snuggling happened before that.

It’s not the lack of spooning that mocks Nicky’s belief that just gritting his teeth will be enough to get him through this. No, it’s the way Joe wakes up.

His eyes flick open just a slit, enough that Nicky can watch as his eyelashes brush his cheek. After that, Joe takes a deep breath and blinks his eyes open. In the half-second before they fully adjust to the light, Joe’s eyes are huge and black. He blinks twice more, slow and lazy, and looks at Nicky with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen that weren't on a cartoon deer.

When Joe’s sleepy smile spreads across his face, and he says, “Hey,” Nicky feels his heart stop racing just long enough to lurch up into his throat.

“Good morning,” Nicky says. He’s watching Joe stretch now, seeing that little strip of skin exposed at Joe’s waist, and wishing, not for the first time, that he had any of Joe’s artistic talent. He would draw this moment and know it would stay with him even if his memory of the details faded.

Joe sees Nicky still looking at him. “What?”

_I’m so in love with you I can’t breathe right now._

“You are sporting some truly impressive bedhead, my friend.”

“Yeah, well, I love you, too.” Joe laughs, grabbing the pillow from under his head and throwing it at Nicky.

Trying to avoid this, trying to grit his teeth and repress it, trying to stay unaffected, none of those are going to work. Nicky’s only hope now is exposure therapy. He just has to desensitize himself to it. Sit there and let it roll over him until he doesn’t even notice it.

It almost, _almost_ works.

From the second night, it feels like this is a place where Joe has always belonged but never truly been. He just fits here, fits in Nicky’s home, in _their_ home. Joe knows where the spare light bulbs are, where Nicky keeps the extra sheets for the bed, and how the back left burner on the stove is just a little picky about starting.

While they wake at the same time, Joe always leaves the apartment earlier, so every day, Nicky finds coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter. It's always just the way he likes it. On nights when Nicky is home before Joe, he makes them dinner, and they sit together at the table and talk about their days. At some point, Nicky realizes he hasn’t had to buy himself more cereal for weeks because Joe always picks some up when he shops.

One day, Joe comes home from work, spitting mad about something, and Nicky sends him off to the bedroom. “Go get out of those clothes, so you stop feeling like you’re at work. Take a shower if it will help wash the day away. When you’re ready, come out here and talk to me. About whatever you want.”

Joe nods and hugs him. “You’re too good to me,” he says.

“I try to be as good to you as you deserve.” He cups the back of Joe’s head, petting the soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

Most evenings, they have dinner and talk about whatever is on their minds. Most mornings, Nicky wakes up to the scratch of Joe’s beard against his back and the weight of Joe’s arms around him.

This is killing Nicky a little more each day, but at least he’ll die happy.

They do, finally, get Nicky a new sofa. That night, Nicky says he’s tired and goes to bed early. An hour later, he hears the familiar sounds of Joe getting ready for bed. Moments after that, Nicky feels the bed dip next to him and smiles as Joe slides under the covers. The next morning Joe says something about the bed being better for his back after a day of hauling the new couch around. After that, they never bring it up again.

By the time they’ve been living together for three months, it feels like things are, if not ideal, at least workable. No matter what else, Nicky gets to live with his best friend. He should know better, of course. Complacency will always bite Nicky in the ass.

It’s a Sunday morning, just like the Sunday morning before it. Nicky is folding laundry on the sofa when he hears Joe’s voice just as the shower shuts off.

“I was thinking, if the line for Pamela’s isn’t too bad, we could go have lunch. The tables on the sidewalk are open, and the weather is supposed to be nice.”

“Sure,” Nicky says, looking up as a cloud of steam rolls out of the bathroom. When it clears, Joe is standing there, one hand rubbing a towel over his head and the other holding closed the towel around his waist.

Something small, primal, and panicked starts screaming in Nicky’s head. He hasn’t seen Joe without a shirt on for at least five years. Since before he started going to the gym regularly. There are new muscles, or rather, muscles that have new shapes. A dusting of hair, dark but not thick, spreads across his chest. Nicky watches a drop of water run from Joe's shoulder down over his chest. It slinks along his muscles, skating over the curve of his hip, and disappears under the towel.

Nicky wants to trace that path with his lips, can feel his mouth watering at the mere thought.

“You okay?” Joe asks. In a rush to answer, Nicky worries he’s about to swallow his own tongue.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I remembered something I have to take into the office. Excuse me for a moment. I’m going to put it in my bag before I forget.”

By the time Nicky gets back into the bedroom, Joe has jeans and a shirt on, and Nicky thinks perhaps he can breathe again.

“Something’s up with you,” Joe says, his forehead creasing in a frown.

“What would be up with me?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to figure it out.”

“Joe, I don't know what you mean. Honestly." Nicky picks up a shirt and folds it. Trying to look very much like a picture of innocent domesticity.

“And, now you're lying to me. You just _lied_ to me." He sounds so hurt, and Nicky just wants to crawl into a hole. "That’s your tell. You fidget with your fingers, so you always grab for something to keep your hands busy before you lie." When Nicky doesn't say anything, Joe's expression turns worried. "Nico. You can talk to me. You know that, right? About anything.”

Not about this. Nicky smiles, puts down the shirt. "I know. You're my best friend, and I've never doubted you love me. Not once. There is no one I would rather turn to when something is wrong." He puts his hand on Joe's shoulder and squeezes. "Right now, what's wrong is that I'm hungry." He grins, hoping it reaches his eyes. "Now, finish getting ready, so we can go to lunch.”

Joe's not entirely satisfied, Nicky can tell. He just has to hope it buys him some time to get his shit together.

  
A week later, Nicky realizes that the universe seems to have gotten a taste for reminding him how screwed he is.

He likes the mornings best, specifically the early mornings, just before the alarm goes off. The apartment is quiet, the bed is warm, and Joe is wrapped around him. If Nicky closes his eyes and doesn’t think too hard, it feels like this is all real for just a minute. Like he’s in the relationship of his dreams.

This morning, in particular, though, has an added twist. Usually, Joe’s forehead rests on the back of Nicky’s neck, but today, his head is tucked into Nicky’s shoulder, his mouth is pressed, open and warm, against the side of Nicky’s throat. There’s a spot there that's incredibly sensitive, and it’s like that square centimeter of skin is marked with a giant X on whatever map Joe's mouth is using.

He’s already hard by the time he wakes up, just from the humid lick of Joe’s breath over his neck, and he only gets harder over the next few minutes. Trapped in his pajama pants, Nicky’s cock throbs, and he can feel the slick spot where it’s been rubbing against the fabric. He should get up, of course, but it feels so good. His hips are starting to hitch forward, trying to get more friction from the fabric, and Nicky knows that if he let this go on much longer, he’s going to come like this, and when Joe’s alarm goes off in three minutes, he’s going to see the mess.

Wriggling out from under Joe’s arm, Nicky dashes for the bathroom. He puts his fingers on the spot where Joe’s mouth had been touching him, and he rubs the skin a little, trying to bring back the memory. Like that, with the spot still warm from Joe’s breath, it takes Nicky less than a dozen strokes to come, biting back a groan as he does. Knowing that trying to get back in bed right now is a terrible idea, Nicky turns on the shower, filling the room with steam.

It does nothing to mask the smell, of course. Before, the bathroom just smelled like sex. Now it smells like hot, wet sex. Clearly, he didn’t think this through as well as he should have. Nicky showers, as though he could ever wash away the way Joe’s lips had felt against his neck, and when he gets back to the bedroom, Joe is awake and moving around in the kitchen.

“I’m heading out early,” Joe calls from the kitchen. “Text me what you’re thinking about for dinner, yeah?”

“I will, but I’m leaning toward making something for ourselves.” Nicky can hear Joe zipping up his backpack and slinging it onto his shoulders.

“Cooking for ourselves like grown-ups?” Joe sounds incredulous, but Nicky can hear the smile. “Sounds like a lot of work. Okay, I’m gone. Have a good day at work, honey!” There’s a tease in his voice. It’s all in good fun. After the door closes, Nicky sits on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, knowing he’ll never hear Joe say those words seriously, and grieving a little.

Eventually, he gets up, takes a deep breath, and gets on with his day, because what else is he supposed to do?

  
One day, not long after, Nicky comes home from work so angry, dejected, and frustrated that Joe takes one look at him and says, “Drop your backpack; leave your coat on. Come with me.”

Somewhere in the middle of the second block, Nicky starts venting about his day, and it takes him nearly half a mile to realize he has no idea where they’re going.

“Is there a destination to this little journey?”

“No.” Joe’s smile is soft and fond. “I just know that when you have a bad day, the two things least likely to help are being cooped up and having someone ask what’s wrong. I thought it might help to get out of there and let your mind unwind a bit.”

Nicky looks at this miracle of a man and wonders how anyone meets him, and _doesn’t_ fall in love.

His plan exposed, Joe ventures a few questions as they walk. He’s sympathetic and attentive, hears not only what Nicky says but also what’s left unsaid, and knows whether or not to push. Nicky starts to feel a little of the days’ weight lift from his shoulders.

By the time they make the turn to go home, Nicky’s laughing at some absurd thing Joe says and feeling like he might be able to make it through the rest of the week without killing anyone.

“Thank you,” he says, expecting to hear their standard ‘it was in the manual’ reply.

“It’s hard to see someone you love hurting; I’m just glad I could help.”

_Fuck._

  
Joe’s sister is clearly lobbying to overtake Sam in the race to be Nicky’s favorite al-Kaysani sibling because she shows up for a hang-out night the next week with two huge bags of take-out. She only moved to the city a few months ago, and they both love getting to see her more often.

“Amal!”

“Am I your favorite yet?”

“You know I don’t have favorites,” Nicky says, and Amal laughs.

“Liar. Where’s Joe?”

The man himself strides out of the bedroom. “There you are! Come help me with something.”

Nicky takes the bags from her and starts setting all the containers on the counter. When he finishes, they’re still in the bedroom, so Nicky pokes his head in to see what’s keeping them.

Amal is sitting on the bed, looking at two shirts Joe is holding up.

“Nicky, come help with this.” He takes a seat next to her.

“What’s up?”

“Joe has a date this coming weekend, and we’re trying to find the perfect outfit.”

To his eternal credit, Nicky doesn’t overreact. He bites his tongue, remembering that above all else, this is his best friend, who deserves to be happy.

“Where are you going for the date?”

“It’s just dinner.” Joe names a nearby restaurant. Nothing fancy, but nicer than either of the two shirts he’s holding up.

“Dressier,” Nicky says.

Sighing, Joe goes back to rooting around in the closet.

“So,” Amal says, “you and Joe just keep your clothes in the same closet?”

“Yes.” She’s back to losing that ‘favorite sibling’ race again.

“Does he have a drawer in the dresser as well?”

“No,” Nicky says. Amal stares at him.

“Does he have _two_ drawers in the dresser?”

“Is there a point to this, Amal?”

She shrugs. “I’m just glad you both have an arrangement here that works for you.” To Joe, she says, “What did you find?”

Joe emerges with another option. Both Nicky and Amal veto it.

“I might have an idea,” Nicky says. He digs around at one end of the closed until he finds what he’s looking for. He holds up a shirt that's somehow not quite gray, not quite blue, and not quite silver all at once. “This with a pair of black trousers.”

“That’s not my shirt.” 

“So, you’re fine stealing my hoodie, but you won’t borrow a nice shirt to impress a date?”

Amal laughs, and Joe grudgingly takes the shirt from Nicky.

“It’ll be perfect,” Amal says, looking back and forth between them.

They have dinner, and they watch a movie that they all agree is great, even if it's not good at all. Not long after ten, about the time Joe starts yawning so hard his eyes water, Amal says she needs to be going. Joe hugs her, kisses her head. “I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.”

Nicky goes in for his hug, and Amal snags him by the arm. “Walk me to my car so I can pick your brain about law school?”

“Sure,” Nicky says and wishes like hell he had a flare gun on him so he could signal for help. Joe, sensing his chance to escape, has run off to the bedroom. Traitor.

In the elevator, Nicky looks at her, waiting, but she says nothing. It’s like that for fourteen floors before Nicky finally breaks.

“Whatever it is, say it.”

“Nicky, you’ve been like a third brother to me for almost a decade. I love you. More than I love Sam some days.” She pauses, and Nicky just waits. “I see the way you look at him. I see the way you’ve always looked at him.”

Before he can stop himself, Nicky says, “Not always.”

“Nicky,” she says with an admonishing tilt to her head. “I only wanted to say that I think things aren’t as bleak as you imagine." Nicky stares at her, weighing his options. As if she can see the war going on inside his head, she says, “I won’t tell him anything you say. If I were going to embarrass you both with this, I’d have done it upstairs.”

“You heard him. He said he didn’t want to date me.”

“No. He said you were never going to date. Words matter, Nicky, and those aren’t the same thing. He said it wasn’t going to happen, not that he didn’t want it to happen.

“Were you up there tonight, Amal? We were helping him pick out a shirt for a date. A date with someone else.”

“Yes,” she says, and she’s not quite shouting, but she’s definitely making herself heard. “A date he’s going to wearing _your shirt._ He’s going to dinner with someone else, wrapped up in _you_ , Nicky.”

“Because I gave it to him!”

“Yes! You did! Maybe think about that. I’m going home.” She grabs his cheeks and pulls him down so she can kiss him on the forehead. “I love you both, you fucking idiots.”

Nicky sighs. “Drive safe, Amal.”

He watches to make sure she makes it safely to her car and waves as she pulls away. When Nicky gets up to the apartment, Joe is already in bed with the lights off. Brain still spinning, Nicky sits on the sofa for a few minutes, trying to settle himself.

Eventually, Nicky slips into bed on the other side, facing Joe. It’s mostly dark, but in the ambient light coming from the window, he can see the wild cloud of Joe’s hair and the curve of his shoulder. Tomorrow, Nicky will wish Joe good luck on his date, will be there when Joe gets home in case he wants to talk about it, will cheer him on, or comfort him, whichever the situation requires. What he won't do, what he absolutely can’t do is start thinking about what Amal said.

After the date, maybe. Maybe.

  
The next night, Nicky tries to be present, but not underfoot as Joe gets ready.

“So tell me more about him,” Nicky says.

In the bathroom, trimming his beard, Joe says, “He was the main client contact for a project we just finished. Turns out, he wanted to ask the entire time but waited until it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest, which is nice. Trying to keep it above board.”

“I like that.”

“Me too. He’s cute, and he’s considerate. He seems to like me. That came out wrong.” He hums for a second. “Ian loved me, I’m sure of that, but I think a lot of the time, he didn’t like me very much. This guy? Theo? He likes me, just enjoys my company.”

“That’s fantastic, Joe. He clearly has good taste because you’re the most likable person I know.”

Joe pops his head out of the bathroom. “More than Amal?” Nicky can feel his forehead buckle in a frown; Joe can’t help but laugh. “Did she talk your ear off last night?”

“No, it wasn’t that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nicky fiddles with the zipper on his hoodie. “Not right now.”

Joe looks at him, so sincere, like he's so happy that Nicky is back to talking to him about the things on his mind, and says, “Whenever you’re ready.” He steps out of the bathroom, and Nicky smiles, pronouncing him to be perfect.

The doorbell rings, and Nicky answers it. Standing on the other side is a nervous-looking man with a genial smile. Nicky thinks his blue eyes look kind, and he’s jealous of the way this man’s hair seems to be doing what it’s told, as opposed to Nicky’s occasionally stubborn mop.

“Hi,” Joe says from behind Nicky. “You found the place okay.” Theo nods, smiling. Joe claps Nicky on the shoulder. “This is Nicky, my best friend, my savior, and the reason I’m not living with my parents.”

Nicky reaches his hand out to shake, and he and Theo exchange a few pleasantries. He doesn't seem like a fuckbadger upon first meeting, and frankly, now that Nicky knows what was driving at least some of his past reactions, he doesn't feel quite as compelled to loathe Theo on sight.

“Let me grab my watch,” Joe says, ducking into the bedroom.

“It’s great of you to let Joe stay here,” Theo says.

“I’m the one who got lucky in this. He starts the coffee in the morning, and he cleans the bathroom. Besides which, I get to see my best friend every day. I’m not exaggerating when I say that Joe is the best man I know, and given how many times he’s been there for me in the past, this is the least I could do.”

“Not driving you crazy?”

“Not once you get past his terrible taste in movies, but I’ve had years to get used to that.”

Theo laughs just as Joe comes back into the living room. “What did I miss?”

“I was just telling your date that you love the worst movies.”

“Excuse me, Nico. I think you’ll find they’re the best movies.”

“Sure thing,” Nicky says, patting him on the shoulder. He was right; this color is incredible on Joe. It makes his skin look so warm, and his eyes look even deeper. Nicky steps back, opening the door for them. “Have a great time,” he says as they make their way out of the apartment.

Alone in the living room, Nicky thinks about Joe’s date, a nice, sweet man, who will probably be as besotted by Joe as Nicky is, if he’s not already. As much as he’d like to ignore this streak of pettiness, Nicky likes the idea that for the rest of the night, Joe will be wearing Nicky’s shirt.

He spends some time trying to poke at a document for work before giving up. There’s a book Nicky’s been trying to get into, and he might have made some progress on it tonight, but for the fact that he spends the hour the book is open rereading the same page repeatedly.

Something about his talk with Amal isn't sitting right. She looked at Joe and Nicky, and, despite having heard the same words Nicky did, she concluded that there was still a chance for something more between them. Her conviction about it was unshakeable.

If she'd grilled Joe about this same thing, Nicky would know. Either Joe would have told him, or Amal would have brought it up the night before. Which means she should be working with the same facts that Nicky has. They've been in the same rooms for the same conversations. They saw and heard the same things. So, why does it feel like she has a piece of the puzzle that Nicky doesn't have?

At half-past ten, Nick gives up and goes to bed. He’s just a couple of breaths from sleep when he hears the front door open, then the bedroom door. A shaft of light from the hall falls across Nicky’s face.

Stepping into the room, Joe stands next to the bed, not speaking, for what seems like a full minute.

“Nicky?” he whispers. With nothing left inside to give tonight, Nicky doesn’t answer him. Pulling the covers back, Joe settles himself into the center of the bed. He’s perfectly still for probably half a minute before scooting himself closer to Nicky and pulling him into their usual sleeping position, tucking his feet up under Nicky’s. Joe breathes a heavy sigh into space between himself and the back of Nicky’s neck.

“G'night, Nico,” he whispers.

They’re going to need to talk about this, actually talk about it. As much as part of Nicky wants these nights to go on forever, he knows he's near the limits of what his heart can take. That conversation needs time and attention, though. Right now it’s late, and Joe holding him feels as good as it ever has, far too good to interrupt. Even with everything else going on right now, Nicky’s body is conditioned to think of this as the best place to be when he wants to rest. He's asleep in minutes.

  
Joe must have closed the curtains when he got up because it’s dark in the bedroom when Nicky wakes. His phone says it’s almost eleven, and even on the weekends, Nicky doesn’t usually sleep this late. He finds Joe tucked into a corner of the sofa. Nicky gives him a sleepy pat on the head on his way to the coffee. Once he’s caffeinated and has wolfed down some cereal, Nicky takes the other end of the couch.

“So?”

Joe laughs. “It was fine. He’s a nice guy, and it was a nice dinner.”

“Was it a first date or only date?”

“I’m— I’m not sure yet.”

“Now for the most crucial question—“

“Yes, he kissed me.”

“Good to know, but I was going to ask if there was anything new on the menu? Our usual rotation is boring me.”

“Yes. There's a new lamb thing, but it was totally uninspired.”

Nicky sighs. “That’s disappointing.” He props his feet on the coffee table, and Joe jams his toes under Nicky’s thighs to keep them warm. “It could be boiling in here, and you would still have cold toes. Why is that?”

“Just lucky, I suppose.”

“What does your afternoon hold?”

“I _was_ going to watch a few hours of incredibly mindless movies, but apparently—“ he waves his phone—“I’m having lunch with Amal.”

Nicky swallows, imagining what Amal’s going to say to Joe, wondering if she’ll try attacking this problem from multiple angles. God, he really hopes not.

Joe’s get-ready-for-lunch routine involves wandering into the living room while he’s still tugging his t-shirt on. Assaulted, once again, by the sight of Joe, shirtless, Nicky has no choice but to sit on the couch, grit his teeth, and white-knuckle it until he’s alone in the apartment again.

Either Nicky is entirely sure that Joe isn’t coming back, or he’s courting disaster as he shoves his pajama pants down to his knees, takes himself in hand, and strokes himself until he has to shove the heel of his hand into his mouth or the neighbors on every side will hear how loud he comes to the image of Joe, splayed out on the bed, half-wearing Nicky’s shirt.

It’s undignified, crude, and more than a little objectifying to his best friend, but it feels so good Nicky does it once more before Joe texts to say he’s on his way back.

> Joe: _stopping at the store, u need anything?_

The slightest instinct for self-preservation. A modicum of restraint. Any shred of dignity.

> Nicky: _some bread for dinner would be great_
> 
> Joe: _u got it. home soon!_

Tomorrow, Nicky decides. Tonight he’ll carve into his memory how good it all feels, and then tomorrow, they’ll talk.


	4. ad astra per aspera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While he’s gone, Nicky wraps up the conversation with his mother, convincing her just to call her sister and talk to her like an adult. He’d be irritated, but clearly, he doesn’t have any moral high ground on the subject of open communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI gang, this is where we really earn our E rating. So.. feel free to skim those bits. For once I didn't make them 3500 words long. It's a Halloween miracle!
> 
> Thank you all for being so amazing and enthusiastic and for such incredible feedback. I love every single comment, and they frequently get reread when I'm having a bad moment or need cheering. I feel so lucky, and I'm glad, and more grateful than I can say, that you guys came along for this ride.

By the time Joe gets home, Nicky’s cooking. He’s also on the phone with his mother. He shrugs at Joe, who waves in reply. “Joe says hello. No, Mama—“ Nicky rolls his eyes.

Joe smiles, whispering, “I’ll be right back.”

While he’s gone, Nicky wraps up the conversation with his mother, convincing her just to call her sister and talk to her like an adult. He’d be irritated, but clearly, he doesn’t have any moral high ground on the subject of open communication.

Last night, Joe had gotten into the bed and, wide awake, wrapped himself around Nicky in the way he'd sworn he only did in his sleep. There's been a fully functional couch in the living room for weeks, but Joe's never slept on it. Even if Nicky doesn't believe Amal, something's going on that needs to be addressed. The only other explanation Nicky can think of is that Joe just wants that kind of physical contact, and now that he's dating again, he'll soon be able to get it somewhere else.

Whatever the reason, they need to talk about it. Nicky knows this but knowing it didn't stop him from passing up at least three chances to say something about it today. Tomorrow. That's what he tells himself.

Tomorrow.

On the counter, Joe’s phone vibrates.

“You’ve got a message coming in,” Nicky calls.

From the bedroom, he hears, “Who's it from?” He tilts the phone until he can see the screen, one hand still stretched out to stir what’s in the pot.

“Amal. It’s just an emoji of a chicken.”

Joe scoffs as he walks into the kitchen. “Why can’t she be angry like an adult?”

“What’s gotten up her nose today?”

Grabbing his phone, Joe tucks himself into one of the chairs. “She’s convinced she knows better than me about everything. Particularly my love life.”

Nicky doesn’t want this conversation coming back around to things he’s not quite ready to talk about yet. He knows the best defense is a good offense. “Tell her if she wants to keep meddling, you’ll go find a guy who’s as big a jerk as Anatoly.”

“No,” Joe says, his eyebrows drawn together in a look of such intense seriousness that he can only be fucking around. “No one will ever be as big a jerk as Anatoly.”

Nicky laughs, turning off the burner under the pot. He grabs his drink and takes a seat on the couch, facing Joe. Nicky's tried hard to block out most of his interactions with Anatoly, but there are a few that linger. “He really was an ass. Remember that afternoon when he grilled me over Skype?”

Joe’s face goes perfectly flat. “I do.”

“He accused me of planning to swoop in as soon as he was gone."

While, as a hobby, picking on Anatoly will never get old, right now, Nicky is just trying to make Joe laugh. His words seem to have the opposite effect because Joe frowns slightly.

"Yes." Joe's voice sounds like a stranger, cold and distant. This is backfiring horribly. "You said you wouldn't want me for yourself."

_What?_

"No. I said I wouldn't offer myself to you as soon as Anatoly was gone." Nicky drops his head back to rest on the couch and stares at the ceiling. “I mean, come on. Hitting on you right after a breakup would make me the shittiest best friend ever.” 

When he speaks again, something has shifted in Joe's voice. Like the sound of water running under ice about to thaw. “Is that the reason you answered him the way?”

Nicky lifts his head to look at Joe, confused.

“Yes.”

With that one word, Joe's whole demeanor changes, and it feels like all the air leaves the room. Nicky isn’t sure quite how, doesn't know what Joe is getting at, but he’s absolutely sure this just became the most important conversation of his life.

 _Fuck._ Nicky wishes he’d thought this out more carefully, that he’d stalled better, that he could breathe right now.

Joe moves over to sit on the coffee table, facing Nicky.

Something vibrates, quietly, in the space between them. Joe is staring at him like he’s a cipher, needing to be investigated and decoded. It’s all Nicky can do not to turn his face away until he stops feeling like he’s under a microscope. He settles for glancing down at the table just to the left of where Joe is sitting.

Joe wipes his palms down his jeans before lacing his fingers together. He props his elbows on his knees and leans forward slightly, his head tilted.

“After that, you said you didn’t want to date me.”

Nicky’s head snaps up. “I said I didn’t want to date _anyone_ —“

“‘And certainly not Joe.’ That’s what you said. Certainly not me.” There's a harsh edge to his voice.

“You'd already had enough shitty boyfriends. The last thing you needed after Anatoly was to date someone who barely had time to tie his shoelaces in the morning. I was in the middle of law school with maybe two hours of free time every week! I'd have been an absentee boyfriend at best, and you deserve better."

It somehow fails to occur to him that he'd already allotted those two hours of free time to Joe.

“So, your point wasn’t that I wouldn't be good enough for you—”

“What the hell—“

Joe holds up one hand to cut him off. “Let me get this out. You weren’t saying I wasn’t good enough for you or that you could never be interested in me; you were saying the kind of boyfriend you’d have been at that point wasn’t good enough for me. Have I got that right?”

“Exactly. Why would I—”

The hand comes up again.

“Stop. Talking. Just for a minute, Nicky. Just—“ Joe sighs. “Just for a minute.”

They’re both silent for a long time. Long enough that Nicky contemplates picking up a book if only to avoid Joe’s stare.

Finally, Joe sits up, shoulders back. He’s not angry; it’s something else entirely. Frustrated, maybe, but also indulgent, and maybe a little curious. “Do you—No. Not like that,” he says almost to himself. Then, to Nicky, he says, “I want to try something— close your eyes.”

“I don’t understand.”

Joe’s jaw clenches, and Nicky can see each of his hands make a fist. His patience seems to be fraying at the edges. “It’s an experiment; just go with it.”

“But what would be—“

Joe’s hands fly open, beyond exasperated. “For **fuck’s sake** , Nico; just **shut up** and let me kiss you!”

With no air left in his lungs, Nicky couldn’t talk if he wanted to. All he can see is Joe, and the tiny, hopeful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Reaching out, Joe puts one hand on each of Nicky’s knees and pushes himself up and forward until they’re barely a hand’s breadth apart. Nicky’s breath speeds up; his heart is rabbiting in his chest. He can’t stop looking at Joe’s mouth. For a moment, he wonders if somehow he’s hallucinated the previous two minutes, except that when Nicky looks up, Joe’s expression has shifted again. He looks like he wants to wreck Nicky.

In the end, Nicky does close his eyes, because as soon as he feels Joe mouth brush over his, so quick and feather-light he might almost have missed it, his entire body shudders, and it feels like he might fly apart if he doesn’t control the sensory overload somehow. It’s less than a second, but it’s every kiss Nicky’s heart has wanted for the last ten years.

The second Joe pulls back, Nicky’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Are you—“

He doesn’t get a chance to finish. Joe makes a noise, a happy, rumbling hum, in the back of his throat, and Nicky leans forward, falling into another kiss. He can feel Joe’s hand covering the back of his neck, a warm, reassuringly solid weight in the middle of a moment that seems to have knocked every one of Nicky’s senses on its ass.

Nicky sighs, cupping the sides of Joe’s face, scratching his fingers through Joe’s beard before sliding them up into his hair. He tilts his head, slotting his nose alongside Joe’s so he can run his tongue against the inside of Joe’s upper lip, teasing his mouth open. Joe groans and Nicky licks the sound of it from his mouth. Minutes, hours later, Joe pulls back from the kiss, their foreheads still pressed together.

“Nico, I’m—“

“No. My turn.”

Joe’s laugh is a low huff.

“In the kitchen, at your parents' house that time? The things you said to Amal. You said all that because of what I told Anatoly, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did—“

“Nico. Can we agree we have the important parts extracted, that we need to talk about this more at some point, but that any further digging right now is only going to make us angry with ourselves and waste time that we could be spending on better things?”

Nicky can’t keep the chuckle to himself. “We can agree.”

“Good.” Joe gets up from the table, putting one knee on either side of Nicky’s hips and settling himself onto Nicky’s lap. “Look at me.”

The look on Joe’s face is so open; everything he’s thinking is written there. Nicky’s never been the target of such intense, focused adoration, and he feels a little drunk on it. He hopes Joe is seeing something like that in his eyes because he's going to spend their future making sure Joe knows how loved he is, and now is the perfect time to start.

Joe drags his thumb over Nicky’s lower lip, sweeping across the spot where he’d sunk his teeth moments before. Nicky flicks his tongue against Joe’s thumb, just to see his eyes go wide.

“May I kiss you again?” Nicky asks.

“He says, as though he didn’t make me wait years for this.”

“You said we weren’t going to dig any further right now.”

“You’d probably better stop me talking, then.”

How can Nicky refuse?

With so many questions out of the way and the earth-shattering newness over, this third kiss is the one Nicky sinks into like he could stay in it for days. He can feel Joe’s fingernails scratch lightly across his scalp and the soft scrape of Joe’s beard. Something about the drag of Joe’s tongue against his own, the way their lips slide together, reaches into Nicky’s chest and loosens the band that’s been tight around it since before Joe moved in.

When Joe’s text notification chimes, his frustrated growl is lost in the heat of Nicky’s mouth. It chimes again, and Joe tears his mouth away from Nicky’s.

“Fuck off, Amal.” He flips his phone to silent.

Laughing, Nicky asks, “Are your knees killing you yet?” 

Joe grins. “A little.”

“I happen to know where there’s a very comfortable bed, not far away.”

“How am I supposed to resist an offer like that?” Joe’s lopsided grin is more than Nicky can take.

"You are incredible." He presses one last, fierce kiss to Joe’s mouth before they both stand up.

Nicky takes his hand, leading Joe toward the bedroom. Joe spots the pot still sitting on the cooktop.

“Burner’s off,” Nicky says.

“Yes but, you don’t want dinner?”

Nicky stares at him. “Really?”

Joe can’t keep a straight face. “No, not really. If whatever you made isn’t good anymore by the time we get to it, that’s what delivery is for.” He puts one hand on each of Nicky’s hips and steers him toward the bed. In the dim light of the bedroom, Joe’s eyebrows draw together in a look that isn’t quite a frown. “Fuck. You are so gorgeous.”

“He says, as though he hasn’t spent the last two weeks wandering around here half-dressed.” Joe grins, and his eyes glitter. Nicky stares at him. “You—“

“Yes?”

Nicky looks at his face, at the way his eyes are black in this light, but his lower lip is somehow still perfectly pink. He traces his thumb over one of Joe’s eyebrows. “You are the answer to every wish I’ve ever made.”

With a low, quiet whine, Joe cups Nicky’s face. "I'll create new languages just so I have the words to tell you what you mean to me." He pulls Nicky close for a desperate, hungry kiss.

Breaking it off, Nicky fists his hand in the front of Joe’s t-shirt and says, “Come here,” before pulling Joe along until they are both stretched out on the bed.

Laughing, Joe bends to kiss him, and it’s more smile than kiss still by the time their mouths meet. Nicky can’t help but smile back. “I get to kiss you,” he says.

“You get to do more than that if you’ll just—“ Joe is fumbling with the buttons at Nicky’s fly while Nicky is tugging at Joe’s shirt. He's trying to push it up, but it catches on something. His fingers finally touch skin, brushing against Joe’s ribs, and Joe sucks in a breath.

“Nicky,” he groans.

They are not coordinated or smooth. Joe catches the underside of Nicky’s jaw with his wrist as he’s flinging his shirt across the bed, and Nicky almost dislocates Joe’s thumb while trying to get their jeans off. One of them leans on the other one’s hair, and someone nearly takes an elbow to the groin, but eventually, their clothing is scattered around them on the bed, and Nicky is staring at miles and miles of Joe’s bare skin.

Awed, the only thing he can do is run his fingers over every bit he can reach. His hands skim up Joe’s chest, feeling the hairs against his palms, then skate over his shoulders and down his back. One finger bumps over the scar Nicky’s seen once or twice, and he makes a note to kiss it later.

Dragging his nose up Joe’s neck, Nicky breathes deep. How does he always smell amazing? He nudges at the underside of Joe’s jaw before kissing along the curve of it, nipping at his chin.

“I need—Nicky, please, fuck,” Bending, he kisses Nicky’s mouth. The movement brings the rest of his body closer to Nicky, as well, and suddenly it’s not nearly close enough. Nicky grips at Joe’s back, pulling until they’re pressed together.

That might have been a mistake, because now the only thing he can feel is the searing heat of Joe, hard against his belly.

Joe groans, long and low, and grinds his hips against Nicky’s “You feel so—God, Nicky, you feel so good.”

His sanity temporarily snatched from him, Nicky buries his face in Joe’s neck. When he can breathe again, Nicky says, “Wait.”

“No. Enough waiting.”

“While that is wonderfully romantic, and I will absolutely let you fuck my face for it later if you’ll let me have one second to—“ He twists his body, reaching over to the nightstand so he can root around for the lube. “There it is.” Prize in hand, Nicky turns back to Joe. He pumps the dispenser once, then reaches down to run his slick hand over their cocks.

“I like the pu—oh, fuuuck.” Joe clenches his jaw, and Nicky can see the effort he’s putting into not just rubbing himself off against Nicky right this second.

“Pump only takes one hand,” Nicky says, as he wipes what’s left on one of his socks, the closest thing in reach. His other hand, he curls around Joe’s neck, bringing him close again for another kiss. “I can feel you against me. You’re so hard and so hot.” Joe kisses him, maps Nicky’s mouth with his own, sucks at his lower lip. “Please, Joe. Let me feel you move.”

With a sound like a sob, Joe puts his face against Nicky’s neck and pushes himself through the slick, hot space between their bodies, dragging his cock up the length of Nicky’s as he does.

Nicky hisses. “Ah!” He curls his hips up, feeling himself sliding along Joe’s length and the press of their skin together. It’s perfect, and Nicky’s guessing he’s got about a minute, maybe two before he can’t hold back anymore. He'd best make that minute count, then.

Gripping Joe’s hips, planting one heel against the bed for leverage, Nicky fucks himself against Joe, not fast, but relentless. He’s listening to every sound Joe makes, trying to catch their meaning, listening for anything that even hints at discomfort. There’s a cry every time Nicky thrusts against him, but it’s nothing but pleasure, nothing but the tight, coiled joy of every nerve poised for release.

Joe’s resting nearly his full weight on Nicky, and it’s making the space around their cocks feel so tight as they both fuck themselves into it over and over.

“Nicky, I—“ His voice has a note that sounds almost like fear. What in this moment could make him —Oh.

“My Joe, my heart, next time we can make it last for hours, right now, I need to feel you.”

As soon as Nicky says the words, ’next time,’ a noise like a sob escapes Joe’s mouth and his hips stutter as he thrusts forward. Like he’s been set free, Joe races toward his climax. He lifts his head and looks at Nicky, his eyes enormous in the barely-lit room. In a move so perfectly ‘Joe’ it almost hurts Nicky’s heart, he tugs one of Nicky’s hands free from his hip, drawing it up beside them. He laces their fingers together, resting their joined hands on the pillow next to Nicky’s shoulder. His grip tightens, and he kisses the base of Nicky’s thumb before meeting his eyes again. Joe doesn’t look away. Not when his hand clenches around Nicky’s, not when his mouth falls open, and he groans, not when his hips judder to a halt and, with one hot splash after another, he comes against Nicky’s belly.

The rush of wet, slick heat is what Nicky needs to pump himself, fast and needy, against Joe’s softening cock. With Joe’s name on his lips, Nicky spills himself into the mess between them.

Panting, Joe sprawls out next to Nicky, but he keeps their hands clasped as much as he can. Nicky curls on his side, looking at this incredible man, who Nicky only dreamed of being able to kiss before tonight. Rolling his head on the pillow, Joe looks back at him. Something in his eyes, something liquid and warm, feels like it’s seeping into every corner of Nicky’s heart. They’ve known each other for a third of their lives at this point, and Nicky’s never seen Joe look at anyone like this, let alone Nicky.

A thought, half-remembered, scratches at the back of his mind. He watches the sweep of Joe’s thumb over their fingers and lets the thought play out in a rambling path. It’s the look on Joe’s face, the way Nicky’s never seen it before. He has expressions like that too, ones he knows Joe’s never seen because Nicky wouldn’t risk letting them show when Joe was watching. Joe probably did the same, keeping looks like this secret from Nicky. The only way anyone would have seen—

There it is. There’s the piece of information Amal had that Nicky didn’t. She must have been watching Joe while Nicky’s back was turned and seen this look, the one Joe kept so carefully hidden that Nicky never even knew it existed. Nicky feels like he needs to send her flowers as an apology. In her position, he’d have thought them both idiots as well, because what’s on Joe’s face right now is unmistakable.

“What are you grinning at?”

“If I say I’m thinking about apologizing to your sister, will you make me explain it?”

“No,” Joe says, his voice a little sleepy. "I’m feeling magnanimous.” He kisses Nicky’s mouth, his lips plush and slick.

Fuck drunk, they both doze off a little while they catch their breath. When Nicky blinks his eyes open, his first thought is that holy shit, Joe is next to him and naked, and what they’ve been up to is obvious. His second thought is that the reason it’s obvious has long-since gotten cold, and it’s starting to itch. The closest thing in reach is the sock he’d used to wipe the lube on earlier. Nicky swabs himself mostly clean, then reaches over and does the same for Joe. Balling the sock up, Nicky tosses it toward the laundry basket in the corner.

As if the weight of Nicky’s gaze woke him, Joe stretches his free arm up over his head, yawning. He kisses Nicky’s hand.

“What?”

Nicky smiles. “I like watching you sleep.”

The lines at the corners of Joe’s eyes come out when he smiles, and Nicky knows he’ll never get tired of seeing them. “Are we that couple?”

Rolling himself closer, awkwardly propping himself up on his elbow without letting go of Joe’s hand, Nicky swallows, focusing on the curve of Joe’s smile. “We don’t have to be. I don’t want to assume—”

“Nicky. You said there would be a next time.”

“That doesn’t mean that we have to—“ Joe’s mouth on his stops anything else Nicky might say.

“You were about to do it again.”

“Do what?”

“Hide what you want, hurt yourself, in some attempt to make me happy.”

“He says, as though he hasn’t spent years thinking I didn’t want him rather than ask me a potentially uncomfortable question.”

Joe winces. “That’s fair. Come on.” He lets go of Nicky’s hand only long enough for them both to stand up and get dressed. Lacing their fingers together again, Joe asks. “Is what you made earlier still going to be okay to eat?”

“It’s meatless chili, and it’s probably still warm. Maybe even better for having sat a bit.”

“Then it’s time for dinner, and talking about things like grown-ups,” Joe says and laughs at Nicky’s disgusted eye-roll.

It’s not an easy conversation, admitting you’ve been wrong, staring down a decade of missed chances and aching hearts never could be. Bolstered by each other and the promise of more kisses, they dive in anyway. When the conversation finishes, almost everything they want to say comes back to one point: Loving someone is never about taking away their choices.

If you want someone, tell them. Let them decide if you’re as good as they deserve. Let them decide if the reward is worth the risk. If someone is doing something that hurts you, tell them; let it be their choice whether or not to keep doing it.

If you have a question, ask it. Let the other person answer you. Out loud.

It's a mistake they’ve made over and over. Assuming Joe would want more than an absentee boyfriend, guessing at what Nicky had meant by those words instead of asking, jumping to conclusions after overhearing Joe talking to Amal, over and over.

They’ve done it every day since Joe moved in.

“How long would you have let me live in your house, sleep in your bed, date other people, and never show any sign that you might want more?”

“As long as you’d let me.”

Joe looks like his heart is breaking. “While I secretly spent every day wishing you’d want me back. Both of us slicing ourselves to ribbons.”

“What if I’d told you how I felt, and you didn’t feel the same?”

One side of Joe’s mouth lifts in a soft smile. “Then I’d have politely said ’no’ and asked you where you wanted to get take-out from that night. Because you’re my best friend. Because you’ll always be my best friend. The same is true for you?” Nicky nods. “Okay. That’s good, then,” Joe says, and Nicky can’t help but kiss him.

  
Curled on the sofa after dinner, they finish the conversation that started in bed, the one that put them on this path.

“This one is a decision we make together.” Joe takes a breath. “Just so I’m clear. I want to be that couple. I want to date you.” Joe looks around, and Nicky knows he sees his belongings everywhere, the pictures of the two of them that adorn the refrigerator, the way his feet, like always, are shoved under Nicky’s thighs. “More than I apparently already have been.”

Nicky feels like his heart might burst. “I would like that very much.” He ducks forward for a kiss. "That was an easy decision.”

“Boyfriends?”

“At least.”

Joe’s eyes go wide, then he puts a hand up. “That is also an out-loud conversation and a joint decision, but I’m scheduling it for at least three months from now.”

Nicky grins. “I accept your terms.”

Between finishing their discussions and groping each other, it takes forever to do the dishes. Joe dips his hands into the water to scrub a plate; Nicky slides his hand up under Joe’s shirt and strokes his chest. When Nicky goes to put the leftovers in the refrigerator, Joe cups his ass, squeezing it. Nicky lets out a startled yelp, turning to glare at Joe with a comically bad attempt at a disapproving expression. Joe is standing in front of the drawer where the forks and spoons go; when Nicky asks him to move, Joe says, “Kiss first.”

It goes on like that until the dishes are done, and they’re both more than a little wound up.

Tonight is one of those rare nights when the air is clear enough for them to see some of the monuments. In front of the floor-length windows, Nicky reaches out to take Joe’s hand. "Why did you ask me to close my eyes earlier?”

“I thought if I let you know what was coming, if you could see me, you might run.”

Nicky can’t fault his logic. “I might have. I wasn’t thinking particularly clearly.” He presses a kiss to the pads of Joe's fingers. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You don’t have to make anything—“ His words are swallowed by the choking sound he makes as Nicky sucks at the tip of his index finger, drawing it in until the webbing at the base presses up against Nicky’s mouth. He smiles at Nicky, sly and hot. “Oh. I see. Certainly, I’m sure we can agree on a suitable apolo—Oh holy shit, Nicky!”

From his new position, kneeling on the floor in front of Joe’s feet, his fingers curled in Joe’s jeans where they’re bunched halfway down his thighs, Nicky looks up with the most innocent expression he can muster.

“Yes?”

Joe looks around. Nicky presumes he’s taking in the fact that they’re on the seventeenth floor, that the only building with any view to them is at a right-angle, and the likelihood that anyone will see anything is vanishingly small. Nearly zero, but not quite.

“Sorry,” Joe says. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Through a combination of team-work and determination, Joe’s jeans end up in a heap off to the side, and his boxers aren’t far behind. He’s not fully hard yet, and he can’t know it, but Nicky fucking loves this part. Cupping the back of Joe’s thighs, Nicky drags his fingernails down. Not a scratch, but enough that with a quiet grunt, Joe’s hips hitch forward. Nicky takes the opportunity to drag his nose down the crease of Joe’s hip and thigh, drinking in how it smells of musk and heat and more than a trace of the mess they’d made earlier. He plants an open-mouthed sucking kiss at the top of that crease and feels Joe’s cock twitch against the side of his face.

Turning toward it, Nicky groans. He runs his mouth along the side, feeling how hot it is already. Wetting his lips, Nicky looks up and does his best to hold eye contact with Joe as he drops his mouth open and slides down over Joe’s length, taking in the head and as much as he can beyond that.

He can hear one of Joe’s hands slap, open-palmed, against the window, and the other bury itself in his hair as Joe says, “Fucking HELL.” It’s not easy to smile with a dick in your mouth, but Nicky tries anyway.

Stroking his tongue along the underside, Nicky can feel the weight of him, solid and real, and he loves it. After a minute or so, he has to pull back; Joe’s gotten harder and grown enough that Nicky can’t quite breathe easily. Not that he entirely minds, but there’s a time and a place for that kind of breathless thrill, and they’re not there yet.

With a happy hum, he wraps his hand around the base of Joe’s cock, and pulls off to lick at the head. When he flicks his eyes up, Joe is staring back at him, pupils blown and mouth open, panting. Nicky smiles at him, mouthing kisses down the side of the shaft and licking up the side of his balls.

“You’re—Oh god, fuck, Nico, you’re killing me.”

Not yet, he’s not.

For this, his debut performance, Nicky pulls out nearly all the stops. He holds back three or four tricks because he’s in the wrong position for them, and another one or two just because at some point he’s going to need an emergency birthday present.

Slicking his hand with his spit, Nicky strokes in counterpoint to the slide of his mouth, taking in every bit he can, pressing his fingernails into the meat of Joe’s ass. When Joe’s hand in his hair tightens, Nicky groans and pushes up into it. Joe isn’t trying to direct him, isn’t thrusting. He wouldn’t do that without checking, and fuck, Nicky loves him so much for that.

About the time Nicky moves his hand away and dives forward, feeling the head push against his soft palate and down the back of his mouth, Joe starts pleading. His shoulders are curled forward, his hand sliding down to cup the nape of Nicky’s neck.

“Please, Nicky. Please.”

Please what? Please keep taking Joe in so far that Nicky’s eyes are streaming and he has to take a break, stroking Joe with one hand as he catches his breath, only to go back for more, just as hard and needy? Please stroke Joe’s balls as Nicky holds just the head in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue? Please put his hand over Joe’s on the back of his neck, giving him the permission he needs to tighten his grip on Nicky’s neck and push in until Nicky feels wiry hairs against his nose?

He isn’t sure which one Joe wants, so Nicky does them all. In his head, Nicky thinks of this as his Sunday Best Blowjob. His mother would be horrified.

When he looks up again, meeting Joe’s big, dark eyes, Joe is looking back at him like he’s a poem and a song and so very beautiful. His thumb strokes down the side of Nicky’s face. Groaning, Nicky closes his eyes and works the fly of his jeans open, sighing around the heady taste of Joe in his mouth. He presses the heel of his hand to his own cock, grinding against the pressure.

“Yes. Yes, you too,” Joe says, and Nicky can tell that not only is Joe close, but he’s also getting closer just from knowing Nicky’s touching himself. Never one to deny Joe anything, Nicky slips his hand down the front of his boxers and pulls at himself. Even with his mouth full, the sound Nicky makes is obviously a whine.

“You sound so good; I love hearing you.” Joe’s voice is deep and a little husky but so, so sincere. It makes sense; this is who Joe is, who he always has been, someone who wants to give at least as much as he takes. He’s enjoying having his cock buried in a warm, wet mouth, but it’s even better if the person he’s doing this with is also enjoying it.

Nicky moans, stroking himself dry, and loving the nearly too-much friction of it. He could pull off Joe’s cock. It would give him a chance to lick his palm and ease the drag of his strokes a little; it would also let him make more noise so that Joe could hear him better. He won’t, though, because the truth is that Nicky’s always loved doing this, but with Joe, the world is suddenly in color. The way Nicky’s jaw is stretched just wide enough that he knows it’ll be sore tomorrow, the taste of Joe pooling on his tongue, the drag of the shaft over his lips, all of it is perfect, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

He won’t pull off, but he _can_ get louder. His movements are getting sloppy, but god, they’re so close. As if Joe knows that Nicky can’t entirely focus on getting them both off, Joe cards his fingers through Nicky’s hair and whispers, “Can I?”

Nicky groans and tries to nod, pushing himself up into Joe’s grip. Joe palms the top of Nicky’s head, rocking himself into Nicky’s mouth. He’s not going deep or fast, he’s mostly dragging the head of his cock against the roof of Nicky’s mouth, but that seems to be all Joe wants right now. That, and the sound of Nicky coming apart, drunk on the taste of Joe’s cock.

Like a filthy feedback loop, the way Joe is getting off on every sound Nicky makes is what finally pushes Nicky far enough that he tips over the line. He pulls off as he comes, panting against the skin of Joe’s thigh and moaning like a shameless slut.

“Nicky,” Joe whispers, and his voice sounds desperate, his hips still rocking forward. With a needy groan, Nicky fucks his mouth onto Joe’s cock again. He braces himself with one hand on Joe’s thigh, and the other, still slick and spattered from his orgasm, he wraps around the base of Joe’s cock.

Joe, as if realizing that every stroke of Nicky’s hand is slick with his own come, curls forward, whispering Nicky’s name over and over as he spills into Nicky’s mouth. Loving even this part, Nicky holds him there until Joe hisses from too much sensation and tugs at his hair.

Getting off the floor isn’t easy. Nicky can feel his knees creaking. He knows, though, that if he stays there, Joe’s just going to join him, and then they’ll end up passing out, cold and naked, on the living room floor. Once he feels steady on his feet. He guides Joe around by his shoulders until they’re both pointed in the same direction. Wrapping his arms around Joe’s chest, Nicky kisses the back of one muscled shoulder. 

“To bed with us," he says.

When they get to the bathroom door, Nicky says, “I need to brush my teeth.”

Joe hums, happy, and tugs Nicky close for a kiss. It’s not chaste, not even for a second; Joe licks his way into Nicky’s mouth, tasting himself against Nicky’s tongue. He groans and takes Nicky’s lower lip between his teeth.

Laughing, Nicky kisses back, pulling his lip free. “Noted.”

When they’ve both finished their bedtime routines, Nicky crawls into bed, feeling Joe snuggling up behind him. One arm wrapped around Nicky’s chest, Joe presses his lips to the back of Nicky’s shoulder and sighs. “I love this part. I’ve always loved this part. Even when we were too oblivious to ask for anything else, we had this.”

Nicky twists around until he can kiss Joe one last time before he turns off the light. “I love it too,” he says, hearing the rough edges of his voice and knowing his throat will be sore tomorrow. He can’t wait.

In the dark, Nicky can almost hear Joe’s brain spinning, like he’s thinking about the one thing they haven’t mentioned, haven’t talked about. “You okay?” Nicky asks.

Joe’s fingers stroke back and forth over his arm. “I haven’t said it much today. It felt like, after I talked to Amal, I didn’t want to say it again until I knew how I meant it.”

“And now?”

“It’s still true. I still mean it all the ways I did before. It’s only that now I don’t have to hide any of them. And—“ Nicky can’ feel Joe’s nose rubbing against the back of his neck. “This is the time of night when I always wanted to say it the way I really meant, but I couldn’t.”

Oh, Joe. Even in bed, post-coital, and drunk on love, he can still break Nicky’s heart a little.

Nicky ducks and kisses Joe’s arm pulling it tighter around him. “Good night, Joe. I love you.”

He can feel the puff of air as Joe lets out the breath he’d been holding. “I love you, too, Nico. Good night.”

  
Like he’s testing new steps, Joe says it again in the morning.

Nicky smiles and sighs. “I wanted to hear those words, like that, every time you held me like this, and now I can.”

He can feel Joe nod. “Think of all the things we can do now that we only dreamed about doing before.” Nicky swears he can feel the curl of Joe’s smile just before the hot length of his morning erection grinds into Nickys’ ass.

“So romantic.”

“I’ll stop if you want.”

“I didn’t say that.”

  
Later, after they’re cleaned up, Nicky finds Joe rooting around in the cupboards.

“What did you lose?”

Smirking, Joe kisses him. “Funny.” Another kiss. “I was trying to find something for breakfast besides cereal.”

“We could go out,” Nicky says, even though he knows they won’t. When his phone rings, Nicky checks the screen.

At Nicky’s confused expression, Joe asks, “Who is it?”

“Your sister.” He swipes to answer and brings the phone up to his ear. “Good morning, young Miss al-Kaysani. How are you awake before eleven?”

Amal gets right to the point. “I had a long talk with my brother yesterday. I didn’t say anything we talked about, just gave him his own food for thought.”

If this hadn’t already turned out for the best, Nicky might consider never speaking to her again. “Yes?”

“After that, I sent him home to you. To the apartment where you both live, the closet you share, and the bed you sleep in together. Then I crossed my fingers and hoped.”

Nicky sighs, looking up at Joe. At his boyfriend, his answered prayer, the man he loves, has loved for so long he doesn’t even know when it started.

“What’s your point, Amal?"

“I’m downstairs in your lobby. I brought breakfast, bagels.”

“That was very—“

“But only if you guys fucked.”

“I see.” Nicky sighs again, trying to keep the grin out of his voice. “You’d better come up, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have thoughts or things you'd like to see, or suggestions on what should come next (because I'm running in terror from most of my WIP file), come say hi over at [the tumblrs](https://werebearbearbar.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> In the interest of full disclosure, I love the title phrase so much I got it tattooed on my foot. Just. Felt like sharing, I guess.
> 
> Apologies to the members of my speech and debate team whose names I used in vain. Particularly Laura, who was the most put-together policy debate wonk I've ever seen. Her file boxes were not only color-coded, they were color-coordinated to her outfits. She was terrifying.
> 
> You know who else is awesome? [This bitch.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/ceeturnalia) She cheered on every single word of this, and continues to be my Emotional Support Asshole.
> 
> As always, you can find me on the tumbls as [werebearbearbar](https://werebearbearbar.tumblr.com), and if you'd like, you should come say hi.


End file.
